


one touch

by Recluse



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate POVs, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant(mostly), Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, kurodaisoulmates2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-23 06:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6108670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Recluse/pseuds/Recluse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a promise from the universe that opportunity will come, that there is a hand you are meant to hold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one touch

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually add notes in the beginning, but I feel this fic warrants it, given how fucking behemoth it got due to structure.
> 
> This fic has both Kuroo and Daichi's point of view, and goes over the same events in each view. Seeing as it's quite long and reading both POVs can feel quite redundant, the sentences that break up each one are listed here. I recommend reading it in order because the very last parts won't make sense unless you do, but it's up to you. 
> 
> Kuroo's POV:  
> Begins: @start of fic  
> Breaks: "The universe aligns."  
> Begins again: "A promise is kept."
> 
> Daichi's POV:  
> Begins: "The universe aligns."  
> Ends: "A promise is kept."
> 
> Some parts of the fic may fall slightly off of the manga timeline, because there are a LOT of events in Haikyuu and most kurodai interactions are like. 1 panel. You start losing track after a while. I also made a fanmix loosely based around this fic, which is here: http://8tracks.com/recluse/looking-forward
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

The first time he ever feels it is in a dream.

It's a hazy kind of dream, the kind you don’t remember well in the morning, but the visuals aren't important, not compared to the tight grip on his hand that borders on painful. Tetsurou is only eight, but he can already tell that this is competitive, meaningful somehow, a tight squeeze curling around his palm, digging into his skin.

In his dream, he squeezes back with hands that are his but not, somehow, and letting go feels like a terribly sad goodbye and a promise all at once. There's a sensation that crawls on his back that he doesn't know the name of, but it's not really bad or good -- just a funny feeling without a name, a shiver up his spine.

He feels old. He wakes up.

As he sits up in his bed, rubbing the crust out of his eyes, he looks at his hands and wonders if that’s _the moment._ The moment they’ll meet. The first time they’ll ever touch hand to hand, someone he’s yet to meet. He doesn’t remember everything, but he remembers how it had stung just a tiny bit in his dream, wonders how, why. Do they pinch him? Is it because they have pointy nails? Some other weird reason?

He doesn’t dwell on it much, goes instead to wake Kenma up because he wants to play. There's this really cool sport called volleyball that he saw on TV the other day, and now he really wants to try it out, with or without an actual volleyball. Kenma hates exercise, hates going outside, but Tetsurou is sure he can get him to come with a little bit of bribing, Kenma always agrees in the end.

* * *

From then on, Tetsurou feels it every so often, a phantom pressure against his hand, squeezing tight around his palm, just enough to hurt before letting go. For the first few months it's strange and hard to adjust to, leads to a lot of dropped cups and misspellings and messed up catches, but after a while he gets used to it. It's a regular thing in the world after all, phantom sensations of the first touch of hands between soulmates, and he wonders if someone else out there is experiencing it in the same way that he does. He wonders if they dream of his reciprocation of the gesture, of palms that are bigger, older, he guesses, than the ones he has now, wonders if they’re thinking of him in the same way he’s thinking of them.

He feels kind of giddy, imagining it, but he doesn't say so, because it's embarrassing to admit that he's really looking forward to meeting them someday.

Not that there are any _real_ guarantees about it. The sensations are simply things that happen at random, and it doesn’t happen to everyone. It isn't an absolute that you'll be together, or that you'll ever even meet -- if one person finds someone else that they love before the moment, or if one person dies, the sensations fade away and are, according to his parents, replaced by new ones, sometimes.

He thinks that's fair. It's not any fun to have to wait forever to meet someone, even if some part of the universe says you should be together, that doesn't mean it's right. It's been wrong about plenty of things before, like spinach, and that weird dish his grandma makes him eat, and according to Kenma, how bright the sun gets. If the universe lets all those things exist, happen, and thinks they’re okay, then it clearly has some issues in Tetsurou’s eyes. Who's to say it’s not wrong about this?

Still, since the sensations don't fade, become familiar and almost reassuring year after year, Tetsurou hopes they'll meet and get along well, preferably sooner rather than later. Maybe he'll grow really tall and strong in a year, and be really cool, and his soulmate will be totally impressed and squeezing his hand because they're nervous.

His dreams tell him that he's wrong about their first meeting, that he has too many strange expectations, but he hopes for it anyways.

* * *

By middle school, Tetsurou isn't sure they'll meet before either of them meet someone else.

The touch is usual to him now, almost unnoticeable compared to everything else that's going on with his body. He wouldn't even register it if it weren't for that small bit of pain that always reminds him, like the tightness of a sweater with sleeves just a little too small. It always takes his attention, even if he doesn't drop anything anymore, the back of his mind acknowledges the hurt and reminds him that somewhere out there is his supposed-to-be soulmate.

He wonders if they feel it when he feels it, or if they're independent sensations, or if they have some sort of trigger. He wonders if his supposed soulmate is also wondering if they'll meet before they get too old for it to be worth it, or if his supposed soulmate is falling in love with someone else, or if he'll end up liking someone and breaking their connection.

When he thinks about that though, about being the one to end it, a heaviness takes root in him, brings his eyes down to his hands that are growing but aren't the right size yet. They're still too small, bony and uncalloused compared to the ones in his dreams, though volleyball practice is definitely beginning to make a dent in them. He thinks about how the hand that holds his seems calloused too, thick and firm, with a vein on the back just hardly noticeable. Maybe they play?

His friend asks to copy his homework, then, and he doesn’t think about his soulmate again until after he’s picked up Kenma from his elementary school so they can go home together. Kenma follows him from behind, playing a new game, sulking because being picked up by him is embarrassing, apparently.

Still, he tells him what's on his mind, because he knows he’s listening even as he plays his game.

“Hey, Kenma.”

He makes a tiny ‘hm’ in response.

“Do you think I’ll meet my soulmate soon?”

Another ‘hm’. Maybe it’s one of those days where Kenma doesn’t want to talk. That, or he’s still sulky about being picked up.

“I’m kinda worried, you know? What if we’re supposed to meet when we’re like, thirty? I don’t want that!”

Though nobody in his class really catches his eye, his eyes are beginning to catch what they like. If he and his soulmate aren’t going to meet anytime soon, Tetsurou wants to at least give someone else a chance. It’s not fun, waiting like this, hovering on a line that he's never certain will be there the next day.

Kenma nods in acknowledgement, or because something happened in his game, Tetsurou isn’t sure.

He murmurs, tapping away, “It’ll be fine, Kuroo.”

He’s not so sure about that, but he doesn’t get much time to dwell on it, not when their volleyball team isn't even being big enough to play any matches -- he spends most of his time in middle school trying to get people to at least give it a try, ropes Kenma into when he enters middle school, and they have just enough people in his third year, where he’s coincidentally captain. They don’t win a lot, but he expects that. It’s okay. Mostly. Not really, but he can’t just say that after all the work he put into it.

He doesn’t even get any time to get a crush on anyone, not with all the work he has to do to whip their tiny team into shape, and the year passes by in a blur until it's almost time for high school entrance exams.

He’s bored, studying when he knows he’s going to go to Nekoma no matter what because he lives nearby and their volleyball team is good, and wistful, hand still feeling that pinch of pain, years gone by and yet no one still.

He squeezes his hand into a fist in the dark part of the night when he should be asleep and wonders if his soulmate can feel it, like a message. _Hello, I’m here._

Deep in the dark, he thinks he feels a squeeze back. Whether it’s real or not, or even possible, he thinks he feels something, and that’s all he needs.

Tetsurou really hopes they’ll meet soon. It’s kind of lonely like this, only knowing someone by the way they shake hands.

* * *

He's certain that high school is the right time. It feels right, somehow, when he steps into the Nekoma gym for the first time and takes a breath, something electrifying under his skin. His hands grow into the right size, with callouses and scars, and his body feels like how it's supposed to be, big and tall and strong, like how he used to fantasize about when he was eight and had just started feeling the tight squeeze that's now his good luck charm. 

It won’t be in his first year, when he's still gangly and awkward and bad at blocking compared to his upperclassmen, or his second year, when he picks up the pace and gets his whole volleyball life into gear, feels that squeeze when he blocks and knows that he's going to slam the ball back down. The time is close though, he can feel it with every passing month, a tension in his bones, his body, his dreams. He has no way to back up his claim aside from the strange excitement that clamors in his chest and crows, _soon, soon,_ but he trusts it. It’s an odd mantra, a relentless word that nags at him wherever he goes, but he wants it to be true, lets it pick at him through the days, carries it with him as if the universe is promising him something for sure.

The feeling, a hand shaking his with a tight squeeze that screams competitive, comes more frequently then it ever has when he starts high school, a near daily occurrence that causes anticipatory shivers. The little pain that accompanies it is pleasurable now, makes him feel like someone is supporting him no matter what, his own personal cheerleader. He hopes they feel that way too, that they don't think Tetsurou's hand is a nuisance but something to be cherished, appreciated, hopes that his returning squeeze makes them warm inside and keeps them steady. Theirs does that for him now, tingles up his arm once and awhile, a sensation so real that he would say he's being haunted by a ghost in any other circumstance. It's like he can feel every little hollow on their skin, their fingerprints etching into his skin, a fit like a well worn glove. It would be impossible for him to miss it now, get it mixed up with any other person's hand, it's been so many years and so many times and so much waiting that if Tetsurou misses it, he'll punch himself.

He wants to know more. He wants to know the whole thing connected to the phantom hand that has been with him for so long, what it'd be like to be touched by both hands, real, skin to skin and not a shadow of what they could be, what they are.  

Will it be a big moment, or one of those moments that’s fleeting, quiet and sudden, where you have to take a second breath to realize? Will it be someone that’s his type, or someone he would never look at twice if it weren’t for the circumstances? What will their personality be like, will they be similar or opposite to his own? Will they want to know him too?

What the universe has in store for him, Tetsurou doesn’t know, but thinking about it is pleasant now, like a warm spring day. The same excitement he’s had since childhood comes to the brim of him, bubbles against the edge, and he stares out the window in class and tries to make that hazy dream he’s seen so many times clearer, clear enough to give a face to a hand.

* * *

When he hears of Karasuno coming for a practice match for the first time in a long time, he doesn't really give it much thought. He knows the history between their teams, knows that they’ve been on a downswing, and knows that they haven’t been to Nekoma in years, so it is interesting that they’re coming to visit after all this time. He knows that Coach Nekomata is looking forward to it, which he expects given the backstory behind them being rival schools, but as a whole there’s not a lot of thought spent on it, nothing in depth, just basic curiosity and expectations that they'll be decent, at least.

Most of his time is instead spent wondering why he hasn’t been feeling that phantom handshake since the news, worry keeping his nerves on edge and fraying at the ends. What if they’ve given up? What if they’ve met someone and made their choice? Why now of all times?

Tetsurou is sure they were meant to meet soon, so soon that his fingers shiver with anticipation whenever he imagines it. It’s awful to think that they had been so close, only to fall short at the last second.

And yet, time stops for no one. Despite his worries, soon enough they’re meeting Karasuno for the first time, bright and early in the midmorning sun, his hand empty as it's never been.

Lined up to face each other, Tetsurou is amused by the vibrancy Karasuno gives off, a team full of loudmouths with an undercurrent of snark and vigor. Their teams are like mirrors, in some aspects; Yamamoto and the guy who’s pretty much bald could be twins, with how similar they seem. He glances at Kenma’s new friend, one of the excited little noisy guys on their team, and has a genuine interest in how he’ll be on the court. He’s already impressed by his ability to befriend Kenma so quickly despite being the kind of person that usually wears Kenma out, and something about him gives Tetsurou the feeling that he’ll be fun to play against. Then there’s the supposedly genius setter, if what he's read about him is true, some tall kid that’s got some intense vibes radiating off him. He certainly _looks_ imposing for a first year, though the look on his face when he’s yelling at Kenma’s new friend makes him seem his actual age. He wonders how much he’ll actually live up to his name and the gossip.

Their captain, he notes, looks reliable and friendly, but that doesn’t mean he’ll drop his guard. It’s not hard to see that he has a good grip on his entire team, knows exactly what buttons to push and when. Tetsurou sees his smile and thinks _ah, he’s the crafty type,_ even though his own smile is just as polite and open, which is to say, fake. He shakes his hand with intent written in the subtext, a ‘ _we won’t lose’_ he fully expects to be returned.

All subtext, text, and anything beyond flies out the window when their captain -- and now Tetsurou desperately tries to remember his introduction -- reaches out and returns the gesture, fingers tightening on his palm just enough to be painful. The sting of pain Tetsurou knows better than any other feeling he’s ever had hits him, and his grip tightens on instinct in response. His -- Sawamura is his name? He thinks that’s right -- eyes go wide too, staring at Tetsurou’s hand like it’s started speaking to him, and Tetsurou tries not to sound desperate when he asks,

“Is...Is it the same for you?”

It’s really a struggle to be polite when he feels like he should know him far better already. Sawamura doesn’t say anything, looks like he’s still processing everything, eyes blown wide, and Tetsurou is about to try again when the match starts and they have to break away.

His hand feels empty when he lets go, but instead of panicking like he wants to, he focuses on the game, like a good player should. Of course they win, as planned, and if he spends more time than usually sizing up the enemy, nobody calls him out on it.

He’s right there. He’s right there and Tetsurou can’t do anything about it because he doesn’t want to be the captain that embarrasses his team by making a big scene on the court because his supposed soulmate is on the other side of the net. He hasn’t even mentioned it to some of them, the majority of his underclassmen don’t know about how long he’s been feeling someone’s half real touch, so instead of playing twenty questions with Sawamura like he wants to, he plays his best game and tries to show off, tastefully, watches Sawamura with excuses ready if anyone notices.

Nobody notices. Except maybe Kenma. But it’s Kenma, so he waves off the embarrassment and readies himself for the end of the day, where he can maybe get five quiet minutes with Sawamura just to talk. Just to make sure.

That doesn’t happen though, because both their teams have problem children and Sawamura has more of them to deal with and they take up all his attention, so instead he hastily writes his number down on a slip of paper he tears from a clipboard and when they’re shaking hands goodbye, tight to the point of painful and polite miasma that’s thick enough to choke on because being soulmates doesn’t mean they can’t feel a rivalry between them, he does his best to slide it into Sawamura’s hands. He’s pretty sure he’s sweating more than is acceptable, and not because they’ve been playing practice matches.

If he notices it, Sawamura doesn’t comment. He just takes the scrap in his fist and waves goodbye with his other hand.

Just the fact he took it gives Tetsurou some kind of relief, watching them, him, leave. His hand twitches.

_This really isn’t fair, universe._

* * *

“Was that it? Them?” Kenma asks when they go home. His actual curiosity says a lot about just how much Tetsurou has discussed this with him in detail.

“I think so.” He says, holding the waver from his voice because he’s far more sure than he wants to let on.

Kenma hums, and little explosion noises come from his phone.

“Good luck.”

Tetsurou has never heard anything so ominous in his life.

* * *

Sawamura doesn’t contact him for two weeks and he feels like he’s dying.

He feels like the universe is tossing him left and right, up and down, is playing a huge prank on him. What if Sawamura can’t read his handwriting? What if he lost the paper? What if he missed a number and is talking to some stranger about being soulmates and slowly falling for some mysterious other person that’s not him?

What if he’s not interested?

He’s never really been that negative with his outlook on the whole soulmates thing, but now that he’s actually seen the person connected to the hand, it’s hard to just let him go, not knowing if they’ll see each other again. He wants to know if they’re sort of compatible, if the universe is in its right mind -- Sawamura isn’t totally his type, but it’s not like that can’t change. He had been good on the court, for one thing, and there are things Tetsurou likes about him already, just from their brief point of contact. His confidence in his team, his humble playstyle, his solid receives and the way he provides his team with a base to work with. They’re all ragtag and force, the lot of them, but he backs them up so they’re allowed to be like that. It’s respectable.

And while he wouldn’t call him the prettiest person he’s ever met, he hadn’t been bad on the eyes either. There was something about him that drew attention naturally, warm and trusting, and Tetsurou is sure it’s not just his mind being biased about his so-called soulmate.

He turns in his bed and buries his face in his pillows and groans. He hadn’t thought he’d be this invested right from the start, but here he is, twelve AM, head buried in pillows and hoping that Sawamura will at least text him on accident. A misdial. Anything.

Nothing.

Kai calls him out for not paying attention during practice, his teachers call him out about it during class, Kenma of all people calls him out about it when they play a game together and he gets killed within minutes. He can’t help it. He doesn’t even get to feel his good luck charm anymore, because the moment has happened and it only lasts until it occurs, and he’s _lonely._  He’s felt it for so long that being without it feels wrong, and he tries to keep the sensation in his head because it’s actually driving him up the wall, the lack of it.

Why hadn’t he asked him for his number? Why hadn’t he found some way to get even one minute alone with him for that purpose? He’s smart, he knows he is, so why hadn’t his brain backed him up like a good brain should?

“ ‘Keep the oxygen moving and your mind working.‘ ” He mutters, glaring at his ceiling.

That’s probably what went wrong. When Sawamura had squeezed his hand, Tetsurou had stopped breathing, and hadn’t started up again until it was too late to do anything.

He turns back into his pillows and ignores the voice in his head that blames his bedhead on his sleeping habits.

* * *

“KENMA!”

He opens the door in a way he hasn’t done since they left elementary, slamming it against the wall, and Kenma jumps about two feet into the air, still pressing buttons on his controller. Tetsurou would admire the skill any other day, but Sawamura’s text is fresh in his phone, and he needs help or else he’ll explode.

“Sorry!” He yells down the stairs first, because he knows the sound probably startled Kenma’s mom. She doesn’t say anything back, but the silence is the kind that says he’s not in trouble. He figured he wouldn’t be, but he should know better, even though he’s practically shaking from anticipation, that’s no excuse for being rude.

“What is it?” Kenma seems annoyed, and Tetsurou knows it’s because he interrupted valuable game time, but this is an emergency and Kenma needs to take breaks anyways. He closes the door behind him and practically runs into the room.

“Sawamura texted me.”

“Wh- Oh. He did?”

Bored, but the kind of bored that means he’s interested enough to humor him.

“He did. What do I say back?”

Kenma gives him a look, nose scrunched and expression disbelieving, and Tetsurou knows asking him for conversational advice is like something out of a gag skit setup, but he’s serious.

“Look, okay? Read it.”

Despite the unwilling look he gives him, Kenma acquiesces and leans over to where Tetsurou’s collapsed on his bed, phone screen visible from his hand.

“...Kuroo.”

He makes a noise in response and can hear Kenma’s huff of annoyance.

“It looks like a regular greeting.” Tetsurou hears him tapping away again, game controller clicking. “Just say one back.”

“But that’s what’s hard, Kenma! Do I answer in a cool way? A polite way? Should I go for, uh,” He means to say flirty but the word ties itself up in his mouth, “you know?”

That’s the dryest look he’s seen on Kenma’s face so far, in all his years.

“Just answer like you usually would.” He turns back to the game and starts a battle, as if to say he’s done with the topic.

He’s not helpful at all. Tetsurou turns his back to him and looks at the message again, black text against white, a simple, _how are you?_ with his name attached.

He hasn’t even responded yet when he gets another text, and heart pounding, he opens it.

_Just in case you forgot my name, we met during the practice match...the handshake…?_

It’s so politely worded that Tetsurou wonders if he’s just as nervous, and the thought eases him a bit. At least he’s not totally calm about this. Tetsurou would hate to be the only one who’s shaken up, would find it unfair and most definitely a hit to his pride, which doesn’t need any more beatings after two weeks and three days of them.

It takes him three times and four drafts before he has a reply the way he wants it, and he brings it to Kenma’s face for him to check, blocking his view of the screen in a way he knows is obnoxious.

Kenma, to his credit, does read it carefully before moving it out of the way.

“Too formal. It doesn’t sound like you.”

“And what do I sound like, exactly?”

Kenma shrugs. ”Like you.”

Why does he have to be so unhelpful? Tetsurou sits up and looks down at his phone, at his reply, makes a few more edits and sends it off five minutes after Sawamura’s second text.

_Don’t worry, I remember your name. And the handshake._

_So, how’s your team?_

Volleyball is a good topic, right? It’s the only thing he knows for sure that they’re both interested in. He wouldn’t think he’s boring, right? Tetsurou’s no volleyball maniac, but he does love the stuff, and he knows enough about it to keep up a conversation. Maybe Sawamura will think he’s obsessed with it though? That really wouldn’t be good, he doesn’t want to come off as a one track mind type of guy, because he’s not.

“Kuro,” Kenma only uses that voice when he’s lecturing, only calls him that when he’s trying to be reassuring, “breathe.”

He does. In, then out.

Then again.

In, then out, watching Kenma beat up monsters with overleveled characters.

It’s not like him to get so high strung. It’s a big moment and all, but he needs to keep his cool, keep his wits about him, or else Sawamura really will think he’s weird and not interesting and not soulmate material.

“You’re too worried about this.” The characters on the screen do a victory dance that is, Tetsurou decides, somewhat unsavory and hilarious all at once.

“It’s been a long time, Kenma.”

He’s wanted to meet him for so long. He’s been dreaming the same thing for years, feeling a hand in his, and while he’s told himself over and over that he wouldn’t obsess if they met, now that they really have he can’t help but want it to go right. Sawamura seems like a good person, and Tetsurou wants to know what the universe was thinking when it decided to send him the sensation of his hand, how it had decided that they would work together.

It’s been wrong about plenty before, but Tetsurou can’t help but hope that it’s right this time, just because.

* * *

They text. They text about volleyball, which is by far the easiest topic because they’re on the same general wavelength about most players and the like, and their teams, because they’re colorful and interesting and easy to talk about. Sawamura mentions that their Inter-High is coming, and Tetsurou understands when his texts dwindle, because he knows that Sawamura is as serious as any captain can get about getting to Nationals. He finds it motivating, though when asked why he’s pushing practice so much he says it’s because of Lev, who is the perfect alibi.

Tetsurou keeps Lev a secret, doesn’t mention him at all in his texts about the team because he’s heard that Karasuno is going to be invited to their yearly group training camp and he wants to see Sawamura’s face when he realizes that Nekoma’s got another troublesome one that can keep up with their speedy little orange blur, probably. There’s also the fact that Lev is awful at every facet of volleyball that requires thought, which is embarrassing, but by the time they come visit Tetsurou swears he’ll at least be in decent shape, if only so that Sawamura doesn’t laugh in his face. He can’t have Lev botching a receive and flipping over again, all his limbs tumbling into everyone and smacking Yaku in the face at least twice. It’d be embarrassing around any visiting team, but the idea of Sawamura seeing it in particular is even worse. His captain abilities lie on the line there, and he can’t let Sawamura think he sucks that bad.

He hears about the loss from Kenma, who shows him the text from his friend when he asks how exactly he knows. While he’s sort of sad Sawamura didn’t mention it, he understands why, on a captain to captain level. It’s not like they get much further, and he’d be lying if he said that he’s not bitter about it, doesn’t want to think about all the flaws in their last play.

The only silver lining to it, he thinks when browsing articles online, is that Sawamura texts him more about stuff not related to volleyball, like he wants a distraction from the loss and the chaos that Tetsurou is happy to provide, wants himself in regards to the same things, university looming over his shoulders. They talk about food, and the fun parts of school, and their friends, and though the majority of those things are still tied to volleyball in some way, they aren’t directly related, not all the time.

And yet, somehow, Tetsurou still misses the feeling of Sawamura’s hand in his. It’s been with him for years, it’s not something he can just forget about, not after all the strife it’s caused, all the daydreams and nightmares. Even though he knows him now, talks to him often, has seen his face and actually touched him for real, the ghost of Sawamura’s touch lingers on his mind and gives him a funny kind of yearning, achy in his core.

Late at night, when he thinks Sawamura has gone to bed, he decides to make a risky move via text, deeper content than their usual teasing and arguing and conversation. Nothing too serious, something that he can play off easily if it seems to scare Sawamura off, but something different all the same.

He’s an ‘early to bed, early to rise’ kind of guy, as far as Tetsurou knows, so he thinks that Sawamura won’t see it until he has time to sleep off the self-consciousness. He blames the time of night for his loose fingers that type,

_you know, i miss the feeling of your hand_

_like i grew up with it so it’s kind of weird to be without it_

_you know what i mean?_

He’s barely put it down when it buzzes and he jolts, hand snatching it back up. He whips it to his face and clicks the new message button.

_yes_

His face turns hot and giddy, grin stretching across his face so much it hurts, cheeks burning.

His phone buzzes again.

_I know what you mean_

Of course he does. It only makes sense he would.

He types quickly,

_ive felt it since i was 8_

pauses before he hits the send button, then adds,

_it was my good luck charm_

and tosses his phone an arm’s length away after sending it. He wants to see what Sawamura answers, but at the same time if he looks at what he’s sent, he’s sure he’ll regret everything, that he'll send a follow up text about how he was just playing around and _don't take it too seriously_. 

It's only a few words, but it's deeper than the usual discussions they end up having, and Tetsurou takes care to never share too much -- it's scary, letting yourself be exposed, without having some sort of verbal cushion, genuine and nothing more, nothing less. It's not his style. He likes words, and likes cushions, and while he does like to rile people up, it's usually with careful consideration of the consequences -- most of the time. He's only human.

The quiet is so _loud._

He’s holding his breath again, throat tight, like he’s been caught mid-swallow. His mouth is dry and he considers getting up and getting a drink, but if he gets a drink then he’ll probably need to use the bathroom, and then he’ll miss the exact moment Sawamura replies, because that’s the kind of luck he tends to have.

It feels like hours are passing by as he waits, only looking at the darkness where his phone lies. He considers counting the seconds.

His phone vibrates, lights back up and illuminates the wall. His arm snaps out to grab it, so fast he almost smacks himself in the face. He hardly cares.

It’s a simple reply that shouldn’t have taken, he checks, four minutes to send.

_mine too_

and then, following that,

_I’m going to sleep_

and Tetsurou thinks, _the universe might be onto something._

* * *

It’d be a lot easier on him in a lot of ways if he just told his team what was going on, but Tetsurou doesn’t want anyone to know about his soulmate business. Kenma is an exception, and Kai is pretty close to being told because it’s not very fair to just drag the guy along with his whims when it comes to team organization, but otherwise, Tetsurou wants to keep it quiet, covered. He can just imagine the chaos that would happen if he said something: Yamamoto would try too hard to be helpful and probably end up ruining things, Yaku would probably go straight to Sawamura and ask him a dozen questions about his opinion on being his soulmate, and who knows what the first years would do, but he can’t imagine anything good. Lev would probably assist Yamamoto with some scheme, and they’d probably try to eavesdrop too -- if Tetsurou wants to even think of a few minutes alone with Sawamura, he can’t tell them. It’s hard enough as it is.

And because he only has friends who play volleyball, he can’t tell any of them either. He knows what’ll happen if he tells Bokuto -- the guy is a great guy and smarter than he acts, but he also can’t keep his mouth shut when he’s excited, and volume control isn’t his strong point. Everyone else is related one way or another to a team of some sort, and Tetsurou would hate for someone to bring it up during the trashtalk session that always happens before a match -- it’d actually bother him.

So instead he acts like usual, and when Karasuno’s bus pulls into Nekoma for the first of a series of practice games before the summer training camp, he’s at the head of the welcoming party. He waits, keeps from bouncing on his feet or fiddling with his hands, cackles from both amusement and nervousness when the bald one and their libero think a regular steel tower is the Skytree, and when Sawamura finally isn’t talking to his coach or his advisor or anyone, he wanders over to him, as casual as he can get.

He realizes halfway there that he has no clue what to say. His eyes roam, searching for something, and it ends up being volleyball again.

“Aren’t you missing a few?”

“Ah, about that…”

Tetsurou can’t tell if he’s imagining the tint on Sawamura’s cheeks, or what it’s related to. Him? His team having missing parts due to bad exams? Maybe his blood runs higher in the morning. Maybe he’s imagining it. Maybe he’s making this a far bigger deal than he should.

He’s about to ask a more personal kind of question, _how are you_ or _what’s new_ or the like, but Yamamoto has to go and scream about Karasuno’s admittedly cute manager, managers now, again, and then the other third years from Karasuno -- Suga and Asahi, as he knows from texts -- are there, and he doesn’t know what Sawamura’s told them so he refrains from acting too familiar. He walks ahead and leaves them behind even though he doesn't want to, puts himself back into the right state of mind for practicing and practicing only.

He watches them from the corner of his eye during practice, what they’re like with and without the duo, and takes note on their substitutions. They’re certainly not the worst team he’s ever seen, but there is a dent in them that’s clearly shaped like their missing setter and the little blur.

He wonders what it must be like for Sawamura, to have a team so pivotal on a pair of first years like those two. It’s got to be stressful, having a team dynamic built on some crazy move and talent, but when they arrive they definitely prove their mettle, winning them a match and generating all the interest they need. 

Though Sawamura doesn’t look satisfied even when they do win. Instead, he almost seems testy. It’s definitely curiosity inducing, and Tetsurou wants to know what he’s thinking about, but then during lunch, right as he's about to ask, Sawamura pulls out a photo of birds nesting in his hair, a time which Tetsurou remembers all too well. He has to go strangle Kenma and the shortie for that, because they’ve shown Sawamura one of the most embarrassing things he can imagine him seeing, and he knows they’re the only ones who talk as much as he and Sawamura do over the phone.

“Traitor.” He mutters in Kenma’s ear. Kenma takes the dignified route of not responding, or maybe that’s just because Tetsurou has him in a headlock. Either way, he never does get to ask Sawamura anything before practice begins again. 

There’s a second break towards the end of the day, about an hour before Karasuno has to head back. He stays in the gym to drill Lev after practice ends, but Yaku offers to relieve him after taking one of Lev’s botched receives to the head while pulling a net down, anger radiating off of him even as he smiles, which makes for a terrifying expression. Tetsurou shakes his head and grins.

“If you insist!”

Lev’s pained yelps come from behind as he walks out the door, as well as a scream, “Don’t go, Kuroo-san!”

He throws his head back and laughs, making sure it’s loud enough for Lev to hear. Yaku’s the worst teacher for receives -- he’s the libero, and strict as hell about practice even on a good day. He also happens to be the one who’ll speed up his growth the most though, so Tetsurou thinks it’s worth it.

“Kuroo?”

The laugh ends on a garbled choke Tetsurou hopes they don’t hear.

“Er, Sawamura! What are you doing out here?” He tries to stay calm and collected as he usually is, but it’s hard to be after making the most ridiculous sound to ever come out of his body.

“I needed to take a break.” He smiles, sheepish, “Suga threatened to knock me out if I didn’t.”

“That guy?” Somehow, Tetsurou can buy it when he thinks about Sawamura’s texts, but it’s harder to believe when he can see him.

“Suga is actually pretty strong.” He laughs, and well, that’s a nice sound. “He can match Tanaka in arm wrestling, most of the time.”

He nods. “I guess deceiving looks is something your team really has going for it.”

Bad phrasing. Sawamura starts to look defensive and Tetsurou works to backtrack.

“I mean, you wouldn’t really expect the things the shortie- Hinata, could do, and you said that the guy with a beard -- that’s Asahi, er, Azumane, right? -- was actually pretty sensitive, and…”

He’s just making it worse, isn’t he.

“It wasn’t meant to be an insult.” He looks down, abashed. Curse his smart mouth, as useful as it is most of the time. “Sorry. It’s a habit.”

“A habit?” Sawamura raises an eyebrow.

“I’m called a provocation expert.” Only Bokuto really calls him that, but it could catch on.

There’s a pause, and then Sawamura says, “I guess that makes sense.”

He really doesn’t know how to read that, so he changes the subject instead.

“So, uh, how have you been?”

Since when has he been this bad at making conversation?

“Tired.” He stretches out, yawns, and Tetsurou nods.

“After all those flying falls, it’d be weird if you weren’t.” He keeps his tone of voice under control. This really can’t end with Sawamura punching him.

“Yeah, well,” He smiles, shrugs, hand on the back of his neck, “we were missing some of our best.”

He figures that genuine is probably better than snarky, especially since they’re still not on territory that Tetsurou actually understands. It’d be easier without the whole soulmates thing hanging over his head, then they could just be two captains being competitive or something, and he wouldn’t be nearly as nervous as he is now, but it’s happened and there’s no way he’s going to just forget about it.

“Your first year setter is really something, that’s for sure. And that quick of theirs can get pretty annoying.”

“You guys caught up to it pretty fast though.” He shakes his head. “Other teams have too. We’re going to have to figure out how to make it work even after that.”

Tetsurou nods in agreement, because that’s true. It’s tricky, but once you break it down, it’s not so hard to handle, and he imagines that there’s definitely more than one way to take it apart.

“Kageyama’s got his own quirks to work out still.” He says, and he’s smiling but sounds exasperated, “And Hinata really needs to get the basics down. He still has plenty of trouble with receives and serving.”

“That stuff is pretty much just experience, and a good teacher.” He wants to say, _like you_ , but that seems a little too much for their status as soulmates-who-text. It'd probably sound too forward. “At least he’s driven?”

Sawamura laughs at that, a hearty sort that makes Tetsurou wonder what the joke is.

“You’ve got that right.” And then, quieter, like he’s thinking, “He’s really got that going for him.”

There’s a pause that’s not really that awkward, just quiet. 

“Your setter is good too though. Your whole team is pretty solid.” Tetsurou rolls with it. Anything to keep the ball in the air.

“Well of course. Kenma’s our brain, after all.” He grins. “And just solid? You did see the tally, didn’t you?”

“Fukurodani still beat you by three.” Sawamura’s dry response gets a ‘tsk’ out of Tetsurou’s mouth.

“That’s just because Bokuto was in the groove.” He hadn’t gotten all dejected even once, a rare feat. Sawamura looks curious as to what he means, but he figures that’s best saved for later. It wouldn’t be right of him to giveaway Fukurodani’s biggest weak spot.

He thinks that they really need to talk about the whole soulmates thing. About what it means that the universe wants them to be something. About how he’s been thinking about this since he was eight and the way it’s going now is decidedly not the way he thought it would go, and it’s stressing him out.

How does one talk to their supposed-to-be soulmate without coming off as desperate or over invested? It’s not like they _have_ to be together, it’s only a suggestion from the universe, really, and he has no idea if Sawamura’s ever been as invested in the concept as much as he has. He doesn’t really seem as invested in it as Tetsurou has been, is, but at the same time, he doesn’t know Sawamura all that well. Maybe he handles this kind of thing easily? Does he have some sort of experience? Does he remember a past life of his? There are so many questions and not nearly enough answers. Sure, the ghost of his touch had been his good luck charm too, but you can have a good luck charm and not fall for a person. There’s nothing here he can really analyze, there’s simply not enough information available.

“Kuroo?”

“Yes?” He answers, because he can’t let him know he was thinking about them being soulmates, just in case that weirds him out.

“About the…” Sawamura gestures, and Tetsurou is sure he isn’t imagining the red tinge to his face, “You know...What do you want to do?”

“What?” He says, because his vocabulary hasn’t caught up to the situation, and the rest of him is rapidly trying to.

Sawamura takes a deep breath, like he’s readying himself, and Tetsurou wishes he could do the same.

“Okay.” And his voice goes all deep and commanding, like he’s giving a team pep talk, Tetsurou has the exact same tone put away somewhere, usually used in timeouts or pregame lectures. “About the handshake.”

He holds his breath again, because apparently he just doesn’t learn.

“I don’t want to start anything just because it’s, uh,” He stumbles, and he’s completely red, and Tetsurou understands, “you know.”

“Just because it’s what the universe says?”

His voice is remarkably calm given how weak in the knees he is, slouching down to make sure he can catch every expression on Sawamura’s face.

“Yeah.” He’s got a nervous tic, that neck rubbing. “I don’t really think that’s right.”

“So you wanna be friends?” He asks, and then his mouth shoots off, “With potential?”

Smooth. Excellent. How could he do this to himself?

Sawamura turns a whole different shade of red, it looks like, but he’s fairly certain he looks the same way.

“I, uh, guess?” He’s really something, with voice control that steady despite his face, “If that’s what you-- I mean, if you don’t mind?”

“Not at all.” He says too quickly. “I don’t mind at all.”

“Okay that’s,” Sawamura looks to the side and Tetsurou just keeps watching him, slouched to his level, “that’s good.” 

* * *

 _That’s good._  

 _That’s good,_ he thinks, going to bed. _That’s good,_ he thinks, waking up. _That’s good,_ he thinks when he’s taking a break during practice. _That’s good_ , he thinks in the middle of dinner, and he refrains from tossing it all into the air because it’s good food and he’s been taught not to waste anything, but he really wants to.

He’s not sure what’s worse. Not knowing anything and not addressing it at all, or having addressed it and ending up in this weird limbo they’re in where they act like they haven’t had the same phantom feeling for years and instead act like they’re regular friends with, Tetsurou quotes himself sarcastically, _potential_. It’s painful either way, because now that he knows there is a chance, he really wants to grab it more than he personally thinks makes sense. Sawamura is a nice guy, a good guy, the kind of guy Tetsurou would trust with a lot of things, but he wouldn’t put in nearly this much effort had it not been for that damn handshake.

He’s starting to wonder if the handshake is the whole reason for everything. It’s not really fair to be so interested in someone just because of it, but it’s a big deal. It’s always been a big deal to him, and he finally lets himself admit it, all through his life he’s been way more invested in the whole falling-in-love-with-his-soulmate thing than he’s ever wanted to be. From the very start, he’s used it like some kind of emotional leverage, a thing to say to himself even when things got rough, _at least I’ve got a soulmate out there._ It’s been something to rely on, except now it’s just confusing and complicated and stressful. He was already worried about volleyball, about making it to Nationals and the whole Battle of the Trash Heap for the coach and Lev getting good enough to be an actual regular officially, and now there’s this all on top of it, Sawamura and so called “potential”.

Does he even like Sawamura? Could he even see himself liking him if it weren’t for the big glaring sign that says he should?

He actually considers that thought. Would he? He does think he’s a good guy, reliable and warm-hearted, good at handling people and fun to talk to, easy to tease but quick to fire back. He doesn’t come off at first glance nearly as clever as he actually is, which is interesting, and he’s good at reading and adjusting to the atmosphere. He acts older but has a competitive streak that keeps him his actual age, leads to him fooling around with his friends when he feels like it, yet he always comes back around as mature, the most level-headed person that Tetsurou’s ever met. They like the same kind of food, and the same kind of people, mostly, and he’s an excellent foundation to his team, and he really isn’t bad on the eyes either -- his muscle tone is incredible, and a lesser man would be jealous. His training shows, especially on his legs and biceps, and he’s got an amazing--

\--Wrong train of thought to follow. Tetsurou keeps his head in his pillows.

That answers that. With a resounding _yes, probably_ , even. 

So, they’re friends with potential now. How does someone act when they’re like that? Is there some kind of guide he can read? Some kind of informational video he can watch?

He hopes Sawamura is going through the same emotional turmoil, because it would be really, really unfair of the universe to only make him suffer like this, and he’s not a good enough person to hope that Sawamura isn’t feeling any of it. He kind of wants him to be suffering with him, and he’s pretty sure that he is a little self conscious about it, and he had brought it up first, but it’s just, he always seems so stable, at least compared to the clamor that goes on in Tetsurou’s chest.

Does he look like that to Sawamura? Are they just playing that game where they try to look cool so that they don’t look like fools around each other? Tetsurou considers telling Bokuto just so that stops, as it always does when Bokuto’s around, because Bokuto is almost uselessly straightforward. Maybe he can get Kenma to ask for him, via the short kid.

Kenma shoots him down immediately. His text only has one word,  _no_ , in it, and he goes back to the drawing board. That wasn’t a good idea anyways, since he still doesn’t know if Sawamura has told anyone about it.

The training camp comes far too soon for his liking, and he drags his team out early in the morning, earlier than necessary, all so he can greet Sawamura as soon as possible. He tells Kai just before Karasuno’s bus pulls into Shinzen because he looks really tired and that makes him feel guilty, along with the fact that he needs someone who’s good moral support and Kenma is not always the best guy for that job.

He looks surprised for all of two seconds before smiling serenely in that way he does and saying, “Good luck.”

He’s heard that before, and look at where he is now. It’s ominous.

Again, Sawamura is caught up talking to his coaches and his friends, and again, Tetsurou falls into step beside him as soon as possible. At least this time he opens with something that’s not volleyball, just a tease about country boy ignorance and the Tokyo Tower which Sawamura, probably because he’s sleep deprived, accidentally agrees with while trying to argue against it. Suga scolds him and Tetsurou takes it as a personal victory.

It’s hard though, to get actual time to talk to him. Sawamura is all over the place, watching videos and trying out moves with the rest of his team, late night practices, and he's got more than enough on his plate too, busy training Lev to standard and getting in extra practice with Bokuto and doing all his captain duties alongside that. And then he ends up talking to Karasuno’s least spirited first year because Bokuto needs a blocker and Lev is still garbage at receives, which leads to him accidentally hitting their surly middle blocker, verbally, in what looks like one of his sore spots, and that leads to him feeling the need to say sorry to Sawamura just in case the kid gets off his game because of that, but he can’t really keep talking after his apology because Sawamura is never alone and it’s just not his place to reveal to his friends that he’s technically his soulmate. At least Sawamura doesn’t get mad at him about the thing with Glasses, but really, the lack of real conversation is killing him here. How are they supposed to get closer if they can't talk at all?

Three days pass before he gets a chance to breathe, bless Kai, he who offers to take care of their underclassmen while Tetsurou takes a well needed moment to himself. Now if only he could find Sawamura, but the chances of that are pretty slim, considering just how much time he’s been spending late in the gym with his team, trying to do those synchronized attacks that make Shinzen annoying.

But the universe is on his side, or maybe not, he can’t really tell when he sees Sawamura sitting on a bench, nobody else around, just him, sitting with his eyes closed and head tilted up.

It may be rude to intrude on the moment, but Tetsurou’s feet take him there before he can even consider going any other way.

“Hey.” That brings Sawamura’s attention to him, “What are you doing?”

“Taking a break.” He closes his eyes again, and Tetsurou tries not to be offended. Or discouraged.

“Did you get threatened again?”

He cracks a smile at that. _Good_. 

“Maybe.”

He sits down next to him because he’s not going to let this chance slip away, and Sawamura hasn’t said anything in particular that makes him think he should go.

“How you feeling?” He asks, because he can kind of already tell, and it looks like he needs to talk about it.

“Honestly?” Sawamura sighs, “I’ve never been this tired in my life.”

He laughs, not to make fun of him but because he sounds so genuine about it.

“We’re a pretty tough group of teams.”

“You’re telling me.” He opens his eyes then, looking at Tetsurou out of the corner of them. “It’s the first time I’ve ever been to one of these.”

“Really?” He can’t imagine that. Nekoma’s been going to these since what feels like the beginning of time, all through his high school years.

“Yeah.” Sawamura shrugs, and the smile on his face is bitter. “We were never invited to them before.”

“Oh.” He says, unsure of how else to respond, especially when he thinks about how intense Karasuno is now. That explains a lot about the way Sawamura handles things.

“We weren’t that great, my first and second year.” His eyes close again, like he’s thinking, “We weren’t bad, but...It was pretty miserable back then. Now though...”

There’s a smile in his voice, but his face doesn’t really match, for whatever reason.

“We’ve got good underclassmen, and we’ve finally got a chance.”

Tetsurou sees something different from what he hears, something bitter and complicated, layers of meaning.

“It’s scary to think about, huh?”

He’s not sure why he starts talking, especially when Sawamura’s eyes open to look at him.

“You’ve finally got a chance, but it’s in your third year, so you can’t even think about screwing up, or taking it easy, or anything like that.” He stretches, shrugs a little shrug. “It’s stressful. This is the last time you’ll be able have one, and you have to be sure to use it right -- that’s a lot of work, really.”

Sawamura stays quiet, and the atmosphere starts going a direction that makes Tetsurou feel like he really shouldn’t have said that, but then Sawamura sits up to look at him properly, back straightening against the bench.

“It’s the same for most third years though, don’t you think?”

He sounds staunch, like he’s thought about all of this before too many times and come up with the same answer no matter which way he’s looked.

Tetsurou waits to answer that, because he thinks _yes and no_ at the same time. _Yes_ because no third year wants to leave without victory behind them, and _no_ because it’s not the same, teams that have went onward to bigger victories often versus teams that claw their way up. His own team falls under the latter more than the former, and he gets how much every win means when it’s like that.

Still, he agrees in the end. Nobody wants to be the start of a downfall.

“I guess so.”

It’s silent for a while, sitting side by side on the bench, one person to another.

He’s suddenly struck by the urge to hold his hand. Not for any particular reason, but just because he wants to. Because Sawamura had said that his touch, or at least the ghost of it, had been his good luck charm, and he looks like he needs luck now, staring past the night into something more.

So he does, because friends with potential only goes so far, and the potential part is what he should be focusing on anyways. It’s a way to say he’s interested, right?

All his talk is just so he doesn’t lose face in front of himself, hand shaking as he goes to close the three inches or so between them.

Sawamura twitches when he makes contact, and he tries to play it off. It’s all about staying nonchalant. Think relaxed thoughts, and you will be relaxed. It's a psychological thing, he's pretty sure. He hopes it is.

He opens his mouth because he needs to ease the tension in the air before he panics.

“It was your good luck charm, right? I need you and your guys to get to Nationals so we can trash you there properly.” He hopes his grin is cheeky and not terrified. Sawamura turns pink.

“It was yours too, wasn’t it? Feeling nervous that we’ll be the ones to trash you?” He tries to challenge him, but the fight in his voice doesn’t translate well, not when they’re both blushing and practically holding hands.

“Kind of.” He says, because honesty seems to work best with Sawamura, “You guys are ridiculous, but it works.”

The pink turns a deeper shade, but he notices the smile more. It’s bright and big and makes him feel something warm in the pit of his stomach, especially when Sawamura holds his hand properly, palm to palm, and it feels familiar and unfamiliar all at once.

It’s good though. Really good. Great, even. Fantastic.

It's like he’s getting something he's really wanted for a long time, sitting next to Sawamura and holding his hand just a little too tight, trying to recreate an old touch. They don’t say anything, but that’s okay. It’s nice to just relax and hold his hand and feel like everything is right in the universe, for a moment, even if the bench is cold and he’s sure at least four mosquitoes have bitten him, he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

Eventually though, all good things must come to an end. This time, it comes in the form of a warning yell that all the gyms are to be closed and that everyone needs to go to bed. It’s from far away enough that he could pretend he didn’t hear it, could stay right here where he’s comfortable and content, but Sawamura, ever the devoted captain, gets up, letting go in the process. 

It feels like a terribly sad goodbye and a promise all at once.

“I’ll...See you tomorrow?”

He says it like it’s a question, which should just be funny but is actually cute, and Tetsurou knows that this is bad. Good-bad.

“Well, yeah.” He grins, smug, and that puts Sawamura on guard somewhat, “The camp is a full week, you know?”

There’s a pause, but he’s not all that unnerved by it, thinks he’s won a little verbal spar until Sawamura says,

“I didn’t mean like that.”

And then walks away, leaving Tetsurou on the bench, watching him go, speechless with anticipation.

* * *

“Kenma,” He whispers, knowing he’s awake because he’s really not as discreet as he thinks when he’s playing games late at night, “Kenma, listen.” 

It takes a minute or two, but eventually Kenma crawls out of his blanket barrier, glow of the game gone, probably off. It is late, and usually he scolds him around this time to actually go to sleep, but he has to tell him about the latest development in his life first.

“Sawamura held my hand.” He whispers, and Kenma looks positively grossed out, which is hilarious. “And said he wanted to do it again.”

Sure, he hadn’t said that exactly, but Tetsurou can read the subtext. He gets it. Sawamura had made it pretty clear cut, sort of. He probably wasn’t screwing with him.

At least, he hopes that’s the case. He’s too attached to the idea that Sawamura actually wants to do it again to think otherwise.

“You’re soulmates.” Kenma murmurs with a hint of exasperation, “That’s obvious, Kuroo.”

“It’s really not, Kenma.”

He gives him a bland look before turning away to sleep, apparently fed up with him already. If that’s all it takes to get him to go to sleep, then Tetsurou’s never going to worry about him staying up late again.

 _It’s really not that obvious_ , he thinks, too jittery to sleep, still caught in the high of holding his hand and getting to feel his touch again. It’s not that simple. It hasn’t been simple ever since they met, not on his end, anyways.

Maybe it’ll get simpler though. Starting is always the hardest part, right?

* * *

They really don’t get a lot of time, but they do keep meeting later, after dinner has gone by and there’s an hour or so of time before baths and sleeping take precedence. He doesn’t know how Sawamura gets away from his noisy team and his busy schedule, but he’s always there when Tetsurou shows up. For him, it’s a matter of sneaking away when nobody's looking, and he would feel bad about leaving the team to Kai and Yaku if it weren’t for the wink that Kai gives him each night, the silent thumbs up for him to go. He makes a note mentally to buy the guy a meal later as thanks, maybe several. A weeks' worth.

They keep meeting at that one bench and talking about random subjects and holding hands, which makes him so happy that his whole team notices. Even Bokuto notices, to both his dismay and delight.

“Did the cat meet the cream?” He asks, giving him what’s probably supposed to be a suspicious look, but is ruined by the grin on his face. He looks so proud of himself for the phrasing though that Tetsurou doesn’t have the heart to make fun of how awful his sentence was.

“The cat has met the cream,” He says in lieu of mocking him, “the mackerel, and the catnip all at once.”

Whenever Bokuto does something, or says something, he usually ends up playing along, which isn’t so bad most of the time. It’s definitely not so bad to get to brag about his love life.

He’s actually not sure on where they stand on that, on the romantic part of their relationship. He's not even sure if it exists, but at the same time, holding hands isn’t really a friend thing, as far as he knows. Not after a certain age. Not like the way they do it, fingers all tangled and knuckles brushed against, wrists red and shy, pressed closer each night, and Tetsurou brings himself out of his memories before they take him over.

“What, really?” The smarter part of Bokuto makes an appearance, scanning the crowd. “Who? Are they here right now? Which team?”

He plays his cards carefully, which is to say, he doesn’t answer, just smiles. Bokuto glares at him. He gives him a hint.

“They have dark hair.” He finishes the last bit of his lunch. “And that’s that."

“That’s not helpful!” He whines, shaking his head in distress, “Give me an actual hint!”

“Hmmm,” He pretend-considers it. “No, I don’t think so. I’d hate to ruin it.”

“Is this why you’ve been gone after dinner?” Bokuto asks, and he stiffens the tiniest bit. Of course Bokuto catches it, because he’s always the most observant at the worst moments.

“It IS, isn’t it!” He looks around at the crowd more, and Tetsurou takes the opportunity to slip away, lest he actually guess right. Lunch is pretty much over, so he doesn’t get to question him, but Tetsurou can see the gears working in his head, the same way they do on the court.

His fault, but he can’t help it, he’s happy. He’s happy the whole rest of the camp, until the last night comes and he’s reminded that Sawamura actually lives in Miyagi, which is hours and hours away and not nearly close enough to do this again anytime soon.

It’s a quiet night, the last one, the kind where their arms brush up against each other and tie at their hands. Their legs are touching too, knees and thighs, and he’s really conscious of it, this time around. He chalks it up to disappointment, at this night being the last time they’ll get to do this for a while.

He wants to this to happen again though someday, preferably soon. He believes it will.

The light flickers, which gives the mood a weird tilt. There’s a warm wind, and the leaves and grass rustle with a _shh._ It’s all very atmospheric, which is nice, relaxing.

“You know,” He says, and Sawamura glances at him, “I’m really going to miss you.”

He’s not sure he’s ever been this honest in his life, but he needs to say it. He feels compelled to, like Sawamura will say it back if he does, like he’ll come back for sure if he admits it. His face is burning and he refuses to look at him, but he can feel his stare, disbelief and embarrassment and something else, probably, but Tetsurou isn’t going to check, even though he kind of wants to.

The silence ticks by, and he starts to sweat. He tries not to run.

Sawamura whispers, voice almost nonexistent,

“...I’m going to miss you too.”

Tetsurou turns to look at him, head snapping to the side because he has to see his face now, even though his own is probably the weird shade of red that only happens when he’s really embarrassed.

Sawamura is flushed, deep red easing into pink on his cheeks and down his neck, but he’s looking straight at him, and Tetsurou thinks he gets even warmer, looking back. He’s really cute. He’s really brave, with his eyes focused, no hesitation even though he's embarrassed. He’s really just, something, something special, Tetsurou thinks, biting his lip. These nights have been about all kinds of things, the sort of things only said in closeness, the surfaces of fears and history and the things they share, and all they've done is reinforce the idea in Tetsurou's head that they really are soulmates, shared histories of clawing their way up to where they are now, differently shaped but curiously similar.

He’s only a little taller then Sawamura when they’re sitting, can see his face clearly without having to slouch, and before he knows it he’s bridging the gap between them, tilting his head down, curving his body and pressing his lips onto his, eyes closing shut at the first contact.

There’s something electric about the simple touch of skin on skin, barely even brushing, the lightest pressure he can manage. It’s just enough to feel the texture of Sawamura’s lips before he pulls back, dazed, and pushes forward once more, a little harder this time, upper lip ending up between his, and the push back is inexperienced and soft and dry and amazing. He could die like this. He might, given that he can't find it in him to break away to breath.

When he finally pulls away, lungs unable to hold out, Sawamura is bright red all over, eyes wide open, and Tetsurou briefly thinks that his face is actually rounder than it looks at first glance before the shock sets in and he ends up flinging himself off the bench, letting go of Sawamura’s hand in the process.

“Uhm.”

He can’t talk. He doesn’t even know where his tongue is. He can’t feel it. He’s not sure he’s even real anymore.

 _Well, the universe was clearly right about this_ , the back of his mind comments, and the rest of him tells it to shut up.

“Uh--” He swallows, since when was his throat this dry? “Sorry. For springing that on you, I mean.”

He’s not sorry about the actual action of the kiss, as much as he probably should be. He’s just sorry that he didn’t say anything before doing it.

Sawamura stares at him from the bench, still wide-eyed and bright red. They’re probably matching, expressions-wise.

“It’s...Fine. Uhm.” He licks his lips and Tetsurou follows the motion of his tongue far more than is appropriate to the situation, nearly mimics him, “I’m. Gonna go.”

“Yeah, uh, good night. Have a good rest.”

“You too.” And then he’s gone, running down the hall, and Tetsurou stares at the empty spot on the bench where he’d just sat and tries to keep his mind from reeling for long enough to actually understand what just happened.

He’d kissed him.

And Sawamura had kissed him back, the second time.

He closes his hands into fists, dirt catching in his nails. He doesn’t notice.

They had kissed, and it had been the most amazing thing he’d ever experienced, and he wants to do it again, right now, and he wants Sawamura’s hand in his, and he wants Sawamura. A lot. It’s almost like all the longing spread across the years hits him in one shot, concentrated to the point where it hurts, and he curls up into himself and starts laughing because it’s just too much to handle in such a short time.

He really wants Sawamura. He really likes Sawamura, the smile that changes his whole face and the serious side that keeps him steady, the way he shakes hands with new rivals, a little tight. His nervous tic where he rubs the back of his neck and turns shy, sheepish. The broad grin that doubles as a smirk during matches, the look on his face after they had kissed, everything.

He laughs, because it hurts and feels good and it’s just too much for him, this late at night. Everything seems brighter.

* * *

“See ya next time.” Tetsurou says, trying to look cool and sound cool when he says it.

Kenma’s side eye is painful. Kai’s relaxed expression is impossible for most people to read, but he understands the layer of subtle judgement on it. It’s probably because of the grin on his face that lies on the border of friendly and ridiculous, but he’s fooling pretty much everyone else, so it’s okay. He can be happy, can’t he?

“Yeah.” He hopes he’s imagining the hesitation in Sawamura’s voice, “Next time.”

Sawamura’s smile is complicated. His heart sinks.

But it’s fine. It’ll be fine. Sawamura had kissed him back. That had to mean he felt something for him, right? Sawamura wasn’t really the type to kiss anyone just because, Tetsurou’s pretty sure. He never really got swept up in things either, not that much.

Kenma gives him a kick in the shin, which hurts, and he swallows a yell.

“What was that for?!” He hisses, bending to glare at him. Kenma shakes his head.

“You were just standing there.” He points at the gym, “Everyone else was going inside.”

He can’t say anything in rebuttal against that, so instead he sighs. He looks at the ground, kicks a stray pebble and turns, slouching more than usual. Kenma gives him a disapproving sniff.

“Are you sad because Sawamura-san is leaving?”

“Well yeah, obviously.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “What if he forgets all about me?”

He tries to say it lightly, like a joke, but his words are weighted down by the very real fear that he will forget about him. That he wants to. That he wants to forget last night, which is pretty much what Tetsurou considers the best night of his life so far.

Kenma, perhaps sensing it with his weird-but-helpful powers, or just because they've known each other for forever, does something nice and pats him on the arm. “He won’t. He was watching you all breakfast.”

“Wait, really?” He perks up. “Did he do anything? What’d he look like?”

Kenma flees immediately when he starts asking questions. He probably doesn’t want to have another romance talk after being subjected to hundreds of them, but he can’t just say something like that and leave. It’s just too much hope to give him.

Tetsurou follows, asking for more, “Did he look embarrassed? Did he see that thing I was doing with the eggs -- I knew I shouldn’t have let Bokuto trick me into that!”

* * *

It’s three days of radio silence. 

Short texts, little to nothing, and Tetsurou declares the universe cruel and unforgiving and really not fair in any way at all. Soulmates? Feh! Like something like that could be in any way reliable. He shouldn’t have gotten so invested. If they had just been regular people, they could have been friends, and then he wouldn’t be glued to his phone right now in the hopes that Sawamura will call and declare that he has feelings for him.

Tetsurou’s got half a mind to do that himself. To lay all his cards on the table for Sawamura to pick and choose, just so he’ll get some kind of closure one way or another.

 _I should have dated earlier in life._ He thinks somewhat deliriously. _I should have gotten some experience or something._

He doesn’t want to think of being with anyone but Sawamura now. He’s ruined his chances with any other human being. He’s going to die old and alone and it’s going to suck.

He slumps onto his desk, cheek pressed against the wood, water dripping onto his face thanks to his shower earlier.

He knows he’s being melodramatic, but it really does feel that way. Sawamura is his soulmate, the person he’s supposed to fall in love with, the destined “only one”, and right now he really feels like that’s true, like that’s really how it should be. Yet he’s here in his room alone and confused and wistfully dreaming about it instead of living it.

He flips his phone up from the desk, balances it on its side and stares at the last text Sawamura had sent him, two days ago. Just a short answer to a simple question, because Tetsurou isn’t exactly the bravest person on the planet, and he can’t actually bring himself to confront Sawamura about anything that’s happened like he wants to.

He sets it face down and sighs. Maybe tomorrow.

It starts to vibrate. He blinks.

It continues to vibrate, music chiming up from the speaker, and he sits up and grabs it, pressing the answer button without looking because nobody really calls him, just texts.

“Hey,” Comes a voice, and Tetsurou’s eyebrows scrunch together, trying to name it. The static makes it sort of hard to tell. “It’s Sawamura.”

“Sawamura?!” He tries to speak and keep his heart going at the same time. His wish zips through his mind and he tries not to choke. “Hey! Uh, you okay? You need something?”

He doesn’t know what to say. His whole head is reeling. This entire situation is baffling, Sawamura calling him after three days of pretty much nothing, at this time in the night to boot. It’s not that late, but it’s getting pretty close to Sawamura’s self-imposed bedtime, as far as he can remember, and they both have practice in the morning, and Sawamura is saying something.

“I’m...Kind of lost, actually.” He doesn’t sound like he’s in danger or anything drastic, which is a relief. Tetsurou relaxes by a fraction.

“What? Where? Actually, why are you calling me for that?” If he’s lost, wouldn’t it make more sense to call someone actually in his area and not hours away?  
  
“Uh…” Tetsurou can imagine him, standing wherever he is, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “How close is your house to Nekoma?”

“Haa?” What does that have to do with being lost in Miyagi?

“Can you walk there?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

Everything makes sense all at once. All the gears in his head start turning at the same time, creaking and cranking into place, and he stands straight up and grabs his jacket off his chair, leg and knee banging into his desk in the process. He tries to shuffle his phone away from his mouth when he swears, but Sawamura apparently hears him anyways because he asks, “Are you okay?!”

“You’re AT Nekoma right now, right?!”

“Yeah, I am, but-- but you don’t have to come and get me! Don’t worry about it!”

He sounds pretty frantic, like he actually thought Tetsurou wouldn’t try to pick him up if he told him that he had come all the way from Miyagi -- how had he even done that?! -- to Nekoma, close to the heart of Tokyo.

“What do you mean I don’t have to come? You’re lost, right?”

“I mean, I could probably figure out how to get to your house if you gave me directions, or something like that! Don’t trouble yourself, I’ll--”

He shoves on his shoes. “Just stay there. I’m already outside, so just -- I’m coming right now.”

Sawamura starts to say something, but it’s hard to hear compared to all the blood pounding in his ears.

“I’ll be right there. It’s only fifteen minutes.”

Sawamura makes a sound that sounds a lot like the word _sorry_ , but honestly, Tetsurou isn’t really paying attention anymore. He shoves his phone into his jacket pocket and runs out the door, not answering his mother when she asks what he’s in a rush for. He’ll tell her later.

While he runs through the streets, breath coming out in even huffs, every step a loud sound against the concrete, he doesn’t think of anything except _Sawamura_ and _here_.

 

 

 

 

_The universe aligns._

 

 

 

 

Daichi leans against Nekoma’s front fence and tries to look as inconspicuous as possible.

Why had he thought this would be a good idea? His wallet’s lighter than it was three and a half hours ago, he doesn’t know anything about where he is, and it’s late, late enough so that if Kuroo does come, he’ll have to stay at his house or find a bench or a 24 hour cafe or something.

He knows that Kuroo is coming, hears the sound of jostling fabric and heavy footsteps from his phone, but if he changes his mind for some reason, or gets lost too, then what does he do? He could always look up somewhere to go, he guesses -- it’s Tokyo, there’s got to be some place somewhere. 

His phone crackles with the same sounds, over and over, a steady rhythm and crinkling static. He thinks he might even hear the faint sound of breathing, but that’s probably just him imagining things.

Briefly, he wonders what Suga will say when he gets back. What Asahi will say. What his parents will say, what he would have said years before if someone had come up to him and said that in his third year of high school, just a few days before his last Spring tournament, he’ll take a train all the way to Tokyo for someone he just met that year, all because they’re his apparent soulmate.

He leans back and closes his eyes.

* * *

He feels it a few days after his eighth birthday, four days after the start of the new year. It comes to him when he’s half asleep, dozing under the kotatsu, the TV playing a commercial in the background. It’s warm, and comfortable, and right as he starts to slip into sleep, hoping to dream of something good to start the year off, there’s a tight squeeze around his hand and he shrieks because it hurts and takes him off guard. He crawls out of the kotatsu in a hurry, staring at his hand, and his mother runs in and asks him what’s wrong.

“Something squeezed me!” He whines, confused and tired and upset at being woken up right before going to sleep.

His mother, however, looks amazed, startled for only a moment before bursting into laughter, a bright smile on her face. He pouts, but something tells him that he should know what’s going on, that he already does know.

He figures it out when his mother takes his hand and rubs it soothingly, murmuring, “I hope they’ll be good for you.”

* * *

 _I have a soulmate,_ he thinks, staring at his hand while he lies on the floor of his room, arm outstretched. As if summoned, the feeling of someone else’s hand curls around him, tightens to the point of painful and then fades away, like smoke. He curls his hand into a fist, trying to catch it, grab at a ghost, but it doesn’t work, it never works. He wishes it did and rolls onto his side.

He has a lot of questions that he can’t get the answer to. Why does it hurt? Why does it feel like they’re surprised? Why is it that, when he dreams of it, his own hands are so much bigger? Why does it feel like he starts the exchange, why do his fingers press into the back of some hand in a way that tells him he means business? Do they meet when they’re old people? That’s kind of scary to think about, that there’s such a long time before they meet -- he doesn’t want to end up by himself just because he waited and they didn’t.

He wants to wait. He wants to meet them before liking anyone else, before considering anyone else. When he tells his friends that they make fun of him for being interested in _romance_ , but that’s not it. He just feels that if the universe says they’re supposed to be together, then maybe there’s something about this person that’s unique, something that he won’t find in anyone but them. Maybe they’ve got missing pieces of Daichi, and he has some in return, like in the books he reads about it, maybe they’re two halves of a whole.

That’s not a very fun thought, but he considers it anyways, what it would be like to meet someone else and feel...Different. Fuller. He’s not sure how that would even work, wonders if it’d be like after he’s eaten a big meal and thinks he can’t eat anything more ever.

He knows there’s no guarantees about this, that circumstances can change and sensations can fade, that he can’t really control the heart -- but he still thinks that there’s some merit to it, something. There’s a reason why he finds reassurance in the tight squeeze of the future, why even though he’s broken plates and messed up kanji, he wants it with him anyways.

He sits up and looks around the room until his eyes fall on his new volleyball, the one he got recently as a birthday gift. Practicing seems like a good idea -- he’s only played a couple of times, but it’s fun, and he’d like to play it more.

* * *

In middle school, he ends up the captain of the volleyball team because the teachers trust him, and because he’s the only one to carry the infallible belief at the start of every single game that they’ll win. His teammates don’t really share his sentiment or his enthusiasm, but he tries anyways, because what good is playing if you don’t at least try to win? Sure, they aren’t the best team, or the biggest, but Daichi knows better than that -- what matters most is effort and mental state. Even the best players can get distracted or thrown off, and then the rest is a matter of grabbing at whatever opportunity is thrown their way.

He says that, often, but they still lose a lot. He doesn’t let it show how much it bothers him, because he’s their captain, and the captain should always lead calmly. They should never abandon ship before their team, he remembers reading about something like that, about a captain that stayed on his ship until all his crew had gotten off, and even then, he’d stayed, because he was meant to lead the ship all the way into the end. It’s a kind of dark story, but it’s the sort of thing that stays on his mind for a long time, the way the book had described it, a lone figure standing on the deck, hand raised in a final salute as he and his ship sank into the sea.

His hand hurts for a minute and he looks down at it. They still haven’t met yet, and Daichi wonders if they ever will.

He wonders if his soulmate plays volleyball too, wonders if they lead a team like him, if they’re older or younger or his age. He wonders if he’s walked past them, if he’s ever seen them but not touched, wonders what they’d think if they heard that he’s captain of a team that loses more than it wins.

He bites his lip. He shouldn’t think like that. Thinking like that leads to losing morale.

People say he’s reliable, for his age, mature, and he likes being praised that way so he tries his best, but -- but it’s hard, sometimes, to lead practice and see everyone participate halfheartedly because they don’t believe they can get any better. There’s always a way, Daichi believes, has believed so ever since he saw the well named Little Giant play at nationals on TV. He had carried his team without regards to his height, had used that to his advantage even, and it had been enlightening to watch, someone so small compared to his teammates becoming a giant on the court. If he can do it, then there’s no stopping anyone else from doing it too.

Still, nothing changes in day. He realizes that bitterly when they lose again, the last time he’ll get to play in middle school, that it’s not so easy to change.

His hand hurts after the match, that tight squeeze of a handshake that’s meant to be intimidating, but it feels more reassuring, gentler in some way. Like somehow they know and want to comfort him, and while he hates to cry, it takes a lot to hold it in then. Lips pressed together tight, eyes burning, fists at his side, he swears it’ll be different when he goes to Karasuno. He’ll work harder. He’ll get better, and won’t waver, and one day he’ll stand on the court, victorious instead of defeated.

It will happen. He won’t stop until it does.

He stares at the ceiling in his room, weeks later, holding his hand to his chest. He doesn’t really like to admit it, but he relies on that feeling for a lot, a hand that holds his a little too tight. It always comes to him when he needs it, when he feels down, when he feels frustrated -- it reminds him that he isn’t alone.

He wants to feel it tonight, needs to. The entrance exam to Karasuno is soon.

A few minutes pass by, and he squeezes his fist tight, willing it to happen.

He feels something, that night, but it’s not the same thing as usual. It’s softer, smaller, not painful and hardly there, like the ghost of a ghost.

He squeezes back on instinct, but after he does he’s confused. Did he imagine it? Did they communicate just now? Was it just a fluke? Was it someone else? Does he have two soulmates? Is that even possible?

He tries again, and then one more time, squeezing his fist tightly, but nothing comes back. He determines it was just his imagination, and pushes away the disappointment.

* * *

He wonders if bad luck follows him, if the universe likes to test his patience and pride.

In his first year of high school, he meets Suga and Asahi. They get along immediately, talk excitedly about volleyball and how that match with the Little Giant convinced them to come, years ago. They’re enthusiastic and anticipatory, eager to get on the court and see what Karasuno can do.

Reality is harsh, and Daichi doesn’t appreciate it.

The team is tatters of what it was when it went to nationals. Without a coach, and with an adviser who doesn’t really care after the loss of the coach, they’re left to their own devices, and while they try, they need guidance. There’s no way to get better without someone to organize matches and point out the flaws they don’t see, and it shows even in their best players.

What Daichi finds worst of all though, is that he knows the look on his upperclassmens’ faces, has seen it before. They remind him of middle school, of what he sought to escape, and it’s difficult, feeling like he has to try and carry them when it should be the other way around.

The only one who’s enthusiastic is their captain that year, a player who isn’t great but isn’t terrible either. He’s just average, able to do a lot but not really good at anything, and Daichi appreciates him for it. He tries hard to be the best he can be, knows his own flaws well and works to overcome them, and he doesn’t let more than the surface of his weakness show. He has goals. He’s a good captain, even if he’s awkward sometimes and not the best player there, he’s got the guts that Daichi respects, thinks that captains should have. He brings them into the team with full expectations that they’ll give it their all, and as he and Suga and Asahi meet those expectations and go further, so do the ones above him.

They become a team. Gradually, they connect, and he thinks that maybe they have a shot at at least getting past the first round.

It’s a bad match up. It’s a team that gets into the top four every year, and they lose in straight sets.

It’s hard to handle. It’s hard to take such a harsh loss after working so hard on his own, after seeing Suga and Asahi’s faces when they’re forced to pack up and leave the court as soon as they’ve arrived, barely even getting to touch the ball.

When he gets home he slams his fist against his desk because for the first time he wants to give up entirely. It’s been so long, and it’s so hard, and what is he working so hard  _for_ , now that everything seems to have fallen at his feet?

His hand hurts, but it’s not until a particular pain hits him that he curls into himself and cries deeply, sobs rattling his chest.

There’s a hand in his, holding him tight. It stings and yet, when it’s gone, he thinks, standing straight and staring at the wall, that things will be better. That he’ll do what it takes to make them be.

When the third years leave, their captain asks them to stay behind to talk. Just them, three first years who will become second years soon, the middle ground.

“We took too long to connect.” He says, his back to them, and Daichi sees the weight he’s carried, carries still, even when he’s left the team for good. Vaguely, he thinks that maybe that’s why he carries it, because he can never go back and try again, can never rely on the promise of _next year._

As he tells them that opportunity only comes to those who prepare for it, tells them, loud and clear even through his tears, that if opportunity ever comes their way they must grab it, he looks stronger than he’s ever seemed before. He looks like the captain that sank with his ship, in Daichi’s eyes, and he carries his image in his mind throughout his second year with a captain that still doesn’t believe they can go further, even when Nishinoya and Tanaka join, even when Coach Ukai comes back, even when Ennoshita and Narita and Kinoshita come back after that -- he’s too beaten down by false expectations and what he feels is wasted potential. Daichi can’t understand how he doesn’t realize how much opportunity lies in potential, but at the same time, he guesses the only reason he himself does is because he’s had potential follow him his whole life in the form of a handshake’s shadow, whispering of an opportunity that is meant to come, like a promise from the universe that has to be kept.

There are no guarantees, he reminds himself, looking at his hand. There are no guarantees, but something tells him that they will meet, the almost pulse, week after week, building into day after day as his third year comes and he is captain again, ready for this year to be the year Karasuno flies, takes off into the sky and becomes what it was. Becomes _more_.

He has a good feeling about this year. Nothing concrete, nothing obvious, nothing certain -- but something good, something big. Of course, it doesn’t start well, with Asahi quitting because of that one match against Datekou and Nishinoya getting suspended, but still, he keeps his hand close to his chest and lets the sting remind him that soon, opportunity will come, and that he will not let it slip out of his fingers, even if he has to dig his nails into the skin of his palms to keep holding on.

He reaches out again in the night, lets that little ache lead him to sleep, trying to curl his fingers around the hand that holds his. It’s a promise, he thinks drowsily, a promise that will be kept, because he is someone who keeps their promises, and he thinks they are too.

* * *

It’s around the time that the Nekoma practice match is announced that his hand stops pulsing, loses the presence of another hand in his, and that worries him more than the match does. He’s definitely worried about making a good impression, and about reviving the relationship between their schools, and doing their best and winning and showing that Karasuno is back in the game, but among all those worries there’s a constant undercurrent of panic that, just when they were supposed to meet, his soulmate gave up, or even worse, died somehow. Daichi prays for that not to be the case, thinks that the universe would have sent a sharper cutoff, or some sort of larger sign, something more than just the lack of what was becoming a near constant sensation.

He’s certain, with his whole being, that they were supposed to meet soon, very soon. If they gave up so close to the hypothetical finish line, then what’s Daichi supposed to do?

It’s on his mind up until they’re lined up to face Nekoma for the first time, and then he pulls all his attention towards them, their dynamic, the general atmosphere of their team. He sees Tanaka start some kind of fight, again, with someone who looks like they could be his double, and admires Hinata’s ability to make friends as quickly as he does, chatting away with their setter like he’s met him before. Actually, Daichi squints, he’s too comfortable, even for him -- maybe they have met before, he’ll have to ask about that later.

Their captain, however, catches his eye the most, a tall guy with a suspicious type of face and a mess of hair that doesn’t make any sense. He’s got one of _those_ smiles on his face when he goes to greet Daichi, one that he mirrors because he knows it far too well. He thinks _ah, he’s the crafty type,_ readies himself with his hand outstretched, prepared to return whatever is going to be thrown at him.

As soon as it starts, he can feel the competitive edge, the ‘ _we won’t lose’_ written in the moment, but then their captain squeezes his hand in a way that is familiar, unbelievably so, and his whole arm shivers, locks up. His introduction crashes back into Daichi’s head -- _Kuroo Tetsurou, captain, middle blocker, nice to meet you_ \-- as he stares at their connected hands, mind going blank.

He vaguely registers that Kuroo is speaking to him, voice tight and jagged, stuttering out words, but he can’t respond. His tongue is heavy in his mouth, his body awkward, eyes wide, and there’s just not enough time for it to sink in before they have to start the game.

He keeps his thoughts centered because he needs to make a good impression on both Nekoma’s coach and team, but every spare moment he gets is spent on processing what just happened.

His soulmate is across the net. His soulmate is a suspicious looking guy who happens to be the captain of a rival team, their ‘destined rival’ at that. He’s an excellent volleyball player and a hell of a hard block to get past. His name is Kuroo. He’s the person Daichi dreamed about meeting, the person whose hand has been his relief for so many years, the owner of the feeling he’s held close to his chest, late at night when he can’t sleep.

His neck heats up, turns dark red, burning. He makes sure to keep it under control, only lets the blood rush upwards after they’ve played a few games and it makes sense for him to be flushed, tired and sweaty and slightly disoriented. It helps that everyone is focused on the matches, trying to impress and intimidate the other side; nobody catches his internal panic, not even Suga. He spends the day keeping Tanaka from starting fights, keeping Asahi from scaring first years, stopping Kageyama from overwhelming Nekoma’s setter with questions, and if he’s sidestepping Kuroo because he really doesn’t know what to say, well, that’s just because of everything else he has to do.

Still, when it comes to the end of the day, Daichi swallows the lump of nerves in his throat and takes a step forward to shake his hand, heavy with barely concealed threats and crude promises of _next time, we’ll win_. It’s a matter of pride, to act like he’s not bothered about losing, not at all, he’s a good enough sport to shake the hand of his rival’s.

In the midst of that handshake, Kuroo slips his number into Daichi’s palm, towards the end when he lets go. Daichi takes it, because he doesn’t know what else to do, and because he kind of wants to.

* * *

“What was that about?” Suga asks him on the way home. “Did Nekoma’s captain give you something?”

Because Suga always ends up knowing anyways, and there’s no way Daichi can talk around it if he saw, he takes the honest route.

“He gave me his number.” He leans towards Suga’s ear, whispering so that only he can hear, tries not to feel embarrassed. “He’s my…Soulmate, apparently.”

His hand feels empty when he says it, an ache for something that won’t come, now that they’ve met. He wishes that it would come at least once more, one last squeeze for luck.

Suga’s eyes widen. He already knows the story, the years Daichi’s spent waiting, and after a moment he smacks his fist into the palm of his hand like he’s figured something out.

“That’s why he looked like that!” He says first, and then, “You have to talk to him, Daichi!”

“I will! I will, just…”

“Just what?” Suga pokes him in the ribs in a way that hurts. He yelps. “Weren’t you looking forward to this?”

* * *

The number lies on his desk for two weeks.

It’s not like he can’t read it, the handwriting is surprisingly neat, sharp, just a little shaky. Daichi spends a lot of time staring at it, like if he looks at it long enough, everything will make sense about why it’s him that the universe said would be right. That doesn’t happen, obviously, all he gets from looking at it is that Kuroo has handwriting that doesn’t match his face. Nonetheless, he stares at it whenever he goes home, often enough that he remembers the numbers in a jumbled order, and despite the fact that Kuroo giving him his number probably means he wants to talk to him, he hesitates to punch it into his phone.

What’s he supposed to say? How does he start this conversation? What’s the right way to go about this, talking to the person whose hand you’ve been feeling in your own for years, all while trying not to come off as weird? Is there a way to start off that isn’t awkward, or is this the sort of thing where he just has to bite the bullet and deal?

It doesn’t help that Kuroo is captain of their rival team. Daichi is still ruminating on the loss, trying to figure out the best dynamic with their new players, and even though volleyball and this aren’t really related, he still doesn’t want to come off as weak in any sort of way. It’d reflect badly on his team if he did -- he doesn’t want Kuroo to think that they’re being led by someone who can’t handle the job.

Kuroo, for all that he appears suspicious and, frankly, devious, is a good captain. Daichi can see it in his posture, in memory, the way he had stood straight at the head of his team, being the first to reach out, polite and intimidating all at once. The way he had kept them in order while letting them act on their own, simply nudging them this way and that as they fell into place on the court. His team worked in a way that suited him as a person, matched his personality, constantly adjusting to the environment, the people, the place, the time.

At least, that’s the feeling Daichi gets from watching. He could be wrong. They’ve only met once, after all. Maybe Kuroo is nothing like that, he wouldn’t really know.

His polite smile comes to mind, the one he had worn when he’d reached out to greet Daichi, and then layers over the smug smile he’d had on the court. When he thinks about the difference between those two expressions, he’s fairly certain that Kuroo is the kind of person who bends according to the situation, just enough to slide into the place that’s best for him. Clever, sly, a range of knowing looks that Daichi remembers, remembers far too well for someone he’s only met once.

He’d been looking. Been looking too much, honestly, thinking back on it, there were a few times he could have saved balls had he been giving his one hundred percent to the game and not some small percentage to looking at Kuroo.

In his defense, it was hard not to look, given the circumstances. Daichi can’t imagine anyone being as usual after meeting their soulmate, can’t imagine not having any reaction at all. Even Kuroo had sounded stunned, stuttering out words that Daichi hadn’t even heard, too caught up in his own shock, but he’d also found the time to write down his number and give it to him, slipping it into the space between their palms. He had reached out, reacted to the promise of the universe, and delivered what he could.

He stares at his hand.

Soulmates. Or so the universe said.

He picks up his phone and starts to type.

* * *

They text.

It starts off simply, about volleyball and their teams and topics that Daichi finds safe, is relieved and happy to talk about. He tells him about the antics that Hinata and Kageyama get up to, about the big players in the prefecture, hints that they’ve gotten better and would like a rematch, if he wants.

In the weeks they chat, he realizes that Kuroo is different from his first impression in a good way. He finds that he’s down to earth, mischievous but aware of his limits, and in college prep classes similar to Daichi’s own. They don’t have the exact same lessons, but when they can, they share answers and study tricks, history and literature and English, and it’s...Nice. Easy. Volleyball and homework. Like friends.

Inter-High then promptly takes over his thoughts for a while, his world, and he leads them with the full intent to go further than he has before. He’s confident they will, despite everyone's nerves, he plans to destroy the name “the flightless crows”, rip it out from where it’s rooted and show them that Karasuno can fly.

Before the first match, he closes his eyes and tries to will the phantom sensation of a hand in his, the familiar squeeze that’s been missing from his life since that first practice match. It doesn’t come, he can’t even imagine it as well as he wishes, but he does think of Kuroo, black and red behind his eyelids, and he jolts.

Right. Kuroo is attached to that hand, it’s his hand that led him through all the rough nights and tough days for years. It’s his hand that Daichi is thinking of, wants.

The thought is both embarrassing and disorienting. He had always been aware that the hand was attached to ‘someone’, but it wasn’t until recently that ‘someone’ gained a face, a name, a personality. That they were real and able to be grasped back, unlike the sensation that faded each time Daichi reached out to return it.

He shakes the thought from his head before it gets too far. He has to attach the concept of the touch he grew up with to Kuroo properly, because it _is_ his hand Daichi’s thinking of. It’s not right to break them apart just because he doesn’t know Kuroo as well as he knows his hand, callouses still easy to recall, fingerprints embedded in his memories.

Suga calls out to him teasingly, having found him alone in the hallway.

“Feeling nervous, captain?”

Daichi smiles, curling his hand closed.

“Not at all.”

* * *

Winning against Datekou is amazing, losing against Aoba Johsai is devastating. It’s the first time since he’s come to Karasuno that they’ve gotten so far, and after tasting victory, he feels possessed to taste it more. He has to go further, reach higher, he wants to bring Karasuno to Nationals, wants to win, wants them to fly into the sky above the rest, the wind carrying them forward. He wants to lead them there.

But.

There are also entrance exams and universities to apply for and tests to pass, the future beyond high school beckons, and Daichi wavers. What is the best choice? What is the right path?

He’s worked so hard to reach the goal that his captain once had, and he still wants to get there, wants to stand on the national court. But is it right for him?

He doesn’t think he’d regret it. He’s just not sure if it’s what he should do when it comes to his future.

So he texts Kuroo.

Not with his problems, but with other things, lighter things -- he doesn’t want to think about losing to Aoba Johsai after giving it his all, their all, and he doesn’t want to think about leaving the club, and he doesn’t want to think about the complicated things that he must think about, university and last chances, so whenever he has spare time, he texts Kuroo about the easy things. About the fun things, like Asahi scaring first years in the hallway, the wig he keeps having nightmares about, how easily Suga tricks him into trying foods that are far too spicy. Kuroo texts him back about his terrible literature teacher, how no girl wants to be their manager because Yamamoto -- the one who was crying with Tanaka when they had to leave, if Daichi remembers right, eyebrow twitching at the memory -- tries too hard to make them feel welcome, how Kenma, the setter that Hinata made friends with who he does remember, might need glasses soon because he keeps playing videogames late into the night. It’s interesting to hear about, fondness thinly threaded through his anecdotes in the way he describes what’s happening in his life.

They don’t talk about the handshake. Daichi thinks that they probably should, and he kind of wants to, but they don’t. It’s too heavy to talk about over the phone, he reasons, but it sounds hollow, an excuse not to do something difficult.

It’s fine, he’s fine. He misses the feeling, misses the hurt and the pseudo warmth, but he’ll survive. He survived losing to Aoba Johsai without it, though that night he had kept his hand close to his chest, like it would come to him and remind him of better things, but he’ll be fine, even if there’s a pit in his stomach longing to feel it again.

He closes his book, decides that it’s gotten late and he should go to bed, plans to shower in the morning before practice.

His phone buzzes. He takes a look.

_you know, i miss the feeling of your hand_

_like i grew up with it so it’s kind of weird to be without it_

_you know what i mean?_

His eyebrows raise, cheeks getting warm as he reads it twice. It’s coincidence, right? That they both were thinking about it?

His hands take over before he gets a chance to think about his response.

_yes_

He sends, and after he does his cheeks get warmer. He sends another, because one word seems kind of lacking.

_I know what you mean_

And then he sinks into his bed, lying sideways so his head hits the wall and his legs dangle over the side, one of his hands slapping over his eyes as he tries to calm down.

It’s not a huge deal, is it? Kuroo had sent it to him at random, casually, like he’d just thought it up and decided it would make a fun conversation. He was probably just trying to get under his skin again, as he liked to do when he was bored.

His phone buzzes.

_ive felt it since i was 8_

_it was my good luck charm_

Daichi doesn’t know how to respond to that. He’s not sure what the exact tone of the conversation is; with this piece of information, everything goes funny shaped and weighted. Or maybe he’s overthinking it, and Kuroo makes casual conversation out of things like this with all his friends, and suddenly Daichi distinctly recalls that they’re more complicated than friends. That they’re soulmates, paired by the universe to be something, the promise of opportunity, of _more_.

He stares at the ceiling. His phone stays in the palm of his hand, screen fading, going to black.

Kuroo, the rival captain. Kuroo, his friend from Tokyo. Kuroo, his soulmate.

No matter how many times he thinks of that, remembers, it always comes as a surprise. He doesn’t understand how the universe decided on it, if he really believes it, but -- but he does still think it’s worth a shot to at least try to be something more than just texting friends.

He takes a deep breath, in, then out.

Then another, and one more.

He breathes until he can feel his heart steady, eyelids getting heavy, and he types,

_mine too_

and then, following that,

_I’m going to sleep_

and he thinks _, ‘opportunity only comes to those who prepare for it.’_

* * *

A week before the pre-training camp matches, Hinata shows him an amusing picture: Kuroo, asleep, with a pair of birds attempting to nest in his hair. Daichi laughs and asks him to send it to him, fully intending to use it as blackmail or leverage or whatever possible.

When they get there, Hinata and Kageyama-less, he catches Kuroo’s figure from the corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t notice him getting closer until he leans downward, just enough to break Daichi’s personal space bubble, amused and curious when he asks, “Aren’t you missing a few?”

It’s embarrassing to admit why Hinata and Kageyama aren’t here, and he tries to play it off lightly, but his cheeks end up with a thin flush. Kuroo looks at him with a smirk that seems to say that he already knows why they aren’t around and is just waiting to see how Daichi explains it. Silently he decides that when those two get here, he’s going to work them extra hard to make up for the time they’ve spent on make-up exams.

As they walk to the gyms, he explains in detail why they’re absent. He snickers about Hinata’s mistake -- “I’ve never done that through an entire test, wow” -- and whistles low at Kageyama’s perfect score in kanji.

Their lackluster academic performance is obvious, but his words end up sounding proud and exasperated all the same. They really had tried as hard as they could to pass. And at least they had tried to listen to Yachi -- according to Ennoshita, Tanaka and Nishinoya needed to be threatened every few minutes to get anywhere.

When the conversation thins out, dwindles into silence, Kuroo’s smile smooths into something smaller and less crooked. Daichi thinks he sees hesitation flash through his eyes, nervous, like he wants to say something but he’s not committed to the idea, and he’s about to ask what’s on his mind when a loud yell cuts through the air and makes them both turn towards the sound.

Yamamoto -- he remembers his name because Kuroo’s mentioned him before -- is on the floor, Tanaka standing triumphantly in front of him while Kiyoko and Yachi walk away as quickly as possible. It’s a ridiculous sight, and Daichi gets that familiar twitch in his brow, the one that happens far too often around Tanaka.

Kuroo smiles at him when they exchange a look, the suffering sort that Daichi understands easily, and they share a captain-to-captain thought of _why do we have to deal with this_.

And then all of a sudden Kuroo is walking ahead, turning halfway when he’s gotten a good foot or so away. The confident smile on his face makes the flash of uncertainty seem like it never happened at all, and as Suga and Asahi flank his sides Kuroo tells them that the other teams are already here and in the middle of practice.

Suga grins at him as Kuroo walks away. Asahi looks confused and more than a little nervous at Suga’s smile. Daichi doesn’t blame him.

“So, Daichi…” He starts, with that little smile on his face that means a thousand schemes, all with good intentions. Asahi manages to look even more confused and afraid, staring at the two of them like he’ll figure out what’s going on if he does.

Daichi’s not about to have this conversation now, of all times. Maybe later, if they get the chance, but not here and not now. “Let’s get going.”

He retreats, knowing that Suga’s grin is still following behind him, puts his mind back into the position of being the captain of a noisy team that needs to prove that they should be here.

Nothing else. Not Kuroo’s smirk or Suga’s knowing smile, not about how his hand feels empty, suddenly.

* * *

They don’t win until Hinata and Kageyama arrive, and when they do finally win a set, it doesn’t feel as good as it should. Probably because Daichi already knows that things can’t go on like this, relying on Hinata and Kageyama’s quick to carry the team -- Aoba Johsai beat them like that, and they shouldn’t have to. They’re players with huge amounts of potential and talent, but they’re still first years. Their senpai should be able to show them bigger things, should guide and carry them, should be their support as well as their base, where they can grow closer to their full potential, where they can make mistakes because that’s the only way to really learn.

Hinata is already trying, stretching his wings out as far as he can, taking a leap of faith, and Daichi thinks that they shouldn’t just follow behind. That they can’t if they’re ever to improve.

Suga corners him in the hallway, about an hour before they have to go.

“Daichi, you’re thinking too much again.” He pokes him just hard enough to hurt, right between the ribs. Daichi blanches. “Take a break. What are we supposed to do if our reliable captain is too worn out to play?”

He smiles, but the concern on his face is obvious. Daichi knows Suga’s thinking what he’s thinking about, but Suga’s always been a more genuinely optimistic person, and once again Daichi is glad that he came to Karasuno. If it had been just him and Asahi, he’s sure they would have never gotten as far as they have now.

“I guess I will. Thanks, Suga.”

He rubs the back of his neck. Suga grins, cheeky and relieved at the same time.

“Don’t worry about it. Take a walk, get some fresh air -- it’s nice outside here.” He’s practically pushing him out the doors, and Daichi tries not to laugh about it, allows himself to be directed instead.

“You better not be more stressed when you come back, or I’m going to ban you from playing.”

“Same to you.”

The share a grin. Suga waves, and Daichi waves, and then he turns and walks, wandering through the hallways. He sticks to the places he knows well enough, the area around the gyms and the walkways, and curiosity leads him towards the sound of laughter.

Once he’s close enough, the source of the is clear. Kuroo, for some reason, is laughing as he walks away from the gym, so loud that it has to be on purpose. It’s kind of weird, and Daichi isn’t actually sure he wants to know, but he calls out anyways.

“Kuroo?”

Kuroo chokes. It takes him by surprise, and he gets closer because he’s not sure if Kuroo is okay or not. That had been a pretty ugly sound.

“Er, Sawamura! What are you doing out here?” 

He sounds embarrassed, which Daichi finds relieving, in an odd way. Kuroo always seemed to stay fairly level headed, almost annoyingly so, like he did it on purpose to frustrate people. While there was a bigger range of emotions in his texts, in person he always acted relaxed, going with the flow of things, never really shifting very far from one emotion to another unless it was to antagonize someone. It’s nice to see him look flustered for once.

“I needed to take a break.” He smiles, trying not to laugh at Kuroo’s embarrassment. “Suga threatened to knock me out if I didn’t.”

Not exactly, but pretty close, reading between the lines. Daichi knows from experience.

“That guy?” He sounds like he can’t believe he would do that, even after all the stories Daichi’s told him.

“Suga is actually pretty strong.” Most people never think so, for some reason, but Suga does do the same practice as all of them. He’s stronger than he looks, even though he’s skinny, he’s got firepower. “He can match Tanaka in arm wrestling even, sometimes.”

Most of the time when that happens, it’s because Suga reminds him of something demotivating, like Kiyoko ignoring him or his awful grades, but he leaves that particular part out. It’s not like he said it happens all the time.

Kuroo nods, thoughtful. “I guess deceiving looks is something your team really has going for it.”

What _that’s_ supposed to mean, Daichi doesn’t know, but the phrasing really grates on his nerves. He’s about to say so when Kuroo continues, and probably because he saw the look on his face, he sounds apologetic. A little frantic even, hands raised in surrender.

“I mean, you wouldn’t really expect the things the shortie-- Hinata, could do, and you said that the guy with a beard -- that’s Asahi, er, Azumane, right? -- was actually pretty sensitive, and…It wasn’t meant to be an insult.”

He really does look sorry about it, the way he trails off and looks down, awkward because he’s already slouching. _That can’t be good for his back_. “Sorry. It’s a habit.”

“A habit?” A troublesome one, Daichi bets, though he can see it being true.

“I’m called a provocation expert.”

He considers the idea. Kuroo _is_ cunning, does seem like the type to have that nickname given to him thanks to his behavior in matches, and Daichi had just thought about how he seemed to stay calm on purpose. There’s also a distinct difference in the way he acts on the court versus right now off of it, even if Daichi can’t put a name on it. He shrugs. 

“I guess that makes sense.”

Kuroo brightens up, seems like, asks, “So, uh, how have you been?”

He couldn’t have changed the subject in a more awkward way. Daichi stifles a laugh as he answers, irritation from before swept clean.

“Tired.” That’s it, really. The day has been rough.

“After all those flying falls, it’d be weird if you weren’t.” He sounds cautious now, like he doesn’t want to annoy him again, even though he has no qualms about it when they’re playing a game or texting. It’s refreshing, being able to see Kuroo’s reaction and how nervous his is, makes Daichi feel a little special, a funny turn in his stomach.

“Yeah, well, we were missing some of our best.” And now he’s back to thinking about the same things he’d thought in the hallway.

“Your first years are really something, that’s for sure. And that quick of theirs can get pretty annoying.”

“You guys caught up to it pretty fast though.” He shakes his head, keeps his deeper concerns veiled but lets the surface of them show. “Other teams have too. We’re going to have to figure out how to make it work even after that.”

Kuroo nods in agreement. Daichi appreciates the honesty in the gesture.

“Kageyama’s got his own quirks to work out still.” He says, thinking of Kageyama before and Kageyama now, the corner of his mouth curling up, “And Hinata really needs to get the basics down. He still has plenty of trouble with receives and serving.”

“That stuff is pretty much just experience, and a good teacher.” There’s a small silence there, like he’s thinking. “At least he’s driven?”

Daichi laughs. He can’t help it. _Driven_ is practically synonymous with Hinata, the way he claws his way up towards improvement no matter the challenge. It’s sort of terrifying to watch, even as his teammate, even understanding his love for the sport -- he just never seems to stop wanting more and more.

“You’ve got that right.” 

Hinata’s drive is terrifying, but it’s critical to growth too. The drive to improve should be in all of them, they all should want to do different things, bigger things. “He’s really got that going for him.”

There’s a pause that’s not really that awkward, just quiet.

Daichi finds himself saying, “Your setter is good too though. Your whole team is pretty solid.”

He means it. Kuroo grins at him and starts to brag, and Daichi reminds him to get off his high horse. He says something back about how Bokuto, who Daichi thinks is Fukurodani’s enthusiastic captain, was in the groove, whatever that means. He doesn’t elaborate, even when faced with Daichi’s questioning look, just smiles mysteriously, hands in his pockets.

It’s quiet. He thinks.

Kuroo’s led him around an area still near the gyms but further away, a corner spot with a comfortable breeze, the kind of place people only know about if they’re familiar with the location. It’s private and therefore an ideal place to have a discussion without being overheard.

“Kuroo?”

“Yes?” He answers, and Daichi composes himself, one hand closing.

“About the…” He waves his other hand in the air, trying to explain without having to say it. It’s tough when he’s already nervous. “You know...What do you want to do?”

“What?”

His tone of voice is unreadable. Daichi sucks in a breath and makes a decision.

“Okay.” It’s best to be clear, direct about this kind of thing. No room for misunderstandings. “About the handshake.”

Kuroo stills. Daichi continues.

“I don’t want to start anything just because it’s, uh,” Why does this have to be so hard and embarrassing and weird? “you know.”

“Just because it’s what the universe says?”

He’s looking at Daichi straight, curved so they’re pretty much at the same height, eyes glinting gold, and it’s nerve wracking. Daichi doesn’t know how he can sound so calm about this. Has he somehow forgotten about what it means? Is he just naturally that way? Is he faking it? Daichi certainly can’t tell he is, if that’s the case.

“Yeah. I don’t really think that’s right.”

The universe had promised him opportunity, and he would acknowledge that, but there are no guarantees about what comes after, in his eyes. Daichi refuses to commit to something like that blindly, without really thinking about it, without really feeling like it’s what he wants -- if he’s going to be in a relationship, it’s going to be because he really wants to be in one, not just because he feels like it’s what he should do.

“So you wanna be friends?” Kuroo asks, and Daichi is about to say that they’re already friends when he adds on, “With potential?”

The only saving grace about this entire situation is that Kuroo has steadily turned redder and redder, though Daichi knows he’s not faring much better. He half shrugs, half nods.

“I, uh, guess? If that’s what you-- I mean, if you don’t mind?” He’s glad his voice has stayed steady despite the overwhelming urge to run as far as he can.

“Not at all. I don’t mind at all.”

“Okay that’s,” He really can’t stand to look anymore. “that’s good.”

* * *

As soon as they get back to Miyagi, he tells Asahi, mostly because while Suga already knows, he feels the need to tell the whole story again, just so he can try and piece together how it’s ended up like this. While Asahi usually ended up being completely unhelpful when asked directly for advice, he’s also Daichi’s other best friend and can be surprisingly insightful when he’s not trying to be. 

He reacts just as expected. He gasps, eyes wide, hand over his mouth, and Daichi takes a moment to think that it’s ridiculous how someone who looks so intimidating regularly can also have a face that makes him look fourteen if it makes the right expression.

He listens though, attentive to Daichi’s concerns as always, and doesn’t ask as many questions as Daichi had expected.

He does, however, ask one that stays on Daichi’s mind.

“But do you think you like him? Or could?”

Daichi hadn’t been able to answer, had actually been rendered silent.

He doesn’t have an answer to that. He hadn’t really thought about it, or rather, he had avoided thinking about it, and and now that he’s stuck where he is he can’t stop thinking about it. In the middle of practice, it flashes by his mind, in class, he finds himself drifting from the lessons, when he’s trying to do homework, it stands in his way, an unavoidable block.

Did he like him? Could he like him? Was it possible?

He’d always thought that if the universe thought he could, he could, but he realizes now how flimsy that line of thought had been. How much of a cop out it was, a way to escape thinking about it for real, leaving it up to the universe.

The training camp is coming soon. He should be thinking about that, about improvement and getting the team coordinated -- Hinata and Kageyama’s issue needs to be solved as soon as possible -- and doing all his homework beforehand, but instead when he thinks of the training camp, he thinks about a week with Kuroo constantly around, and his crooked smile that curves into a smirk like that’s how it’s always supposed to be, the mess of hair that works for him even though it really shouldn’t. The glint of gold in his eyes, and the way he can smoothly cross the court, and Daichi’s not above admitting that Kuroo looks good, charismatic, the kind of guy Daichi is sure people must be at least a little interested in, physically speaking. But that doesn’t mean he likes him, it has no relation to his personality, mostly, his sense of humor fits his typical expression almost too well.

He’s shrewd. He thinks about things far more than he appears to. He’s got unbelievably good control when it comes down to it, keeping his mind steady and staying away from turmoil unless he wants to get involved. He’s fun to talk to, likes to tease, realistic and surprisingly modest, cares about Daichi’s opinion of him and gets incredibly defensive about his hair, Daichi snickers at the thought.

He gets swept up when Kuroo is involved, far more than he’d like to admit. He’s definitely an expert at provocation, but that’s not so bad.

Daichi confesses to himself that it’s...Really fun actually, to get swept up by Kuroo’s antics, his commentary, partially because Daichi trusts him to know where the limits are. Trusts him to stop before actually running into them. He just trusts him, actually, somewhere along the line, he’d started trusting Kuroo, and the realization is startling.

He trusts him. He thinks he’s good looking. The universe sent him a signal.

There’s potential in that. It’s very clear cut. It’s too clear cut, actually, turns his heart over in his chest, and he tries to avoid the shiver of excitement that runs up his arms as he thinks again that when training camp comes, he’ll get to see him again.

Time seems to pass in a fluctuation, quickly and slowly, with Hinata and Kageyama not talking to each other and then suddenly getting outside training together, and then there’s the synchronized attack that’s been on his mind since those practice matches, and it’s like everyone all at once, sans Tsukishima, wants to practice something different. The weeks before the training camp go by in a haze of practice and practice and more practice, and yet he’s standing, early in the morning and tired, at Shinzen before he even knows it.

Kuroo comes up to his side and makes some smart remark, and Daichi botches the return because he’s still recovering from having to try and sleep on a bumpy bus ride. Suga points it out, and Kuroo laughs when he does. Daichi tries not to sulk, even though Suga should back him up, rather than call him out.

There’s not a whole lot of time to do much else but practice, eat, sleep, and then start the whole thing over again. He’d be lying if he said he enjoyed having to run constantly up and down a hill because they’re all out of order, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it too. It’s a new experience, going to a training camp with a group of schools, being pushed to their limits and then breaking past them. It’s not like they’re lacking in things to try, after all.

All of it does take a toll though. He hasn’t run this much in a long time, and he hasn’t lost this many matches in a while either. The setting is better than before, but it still bothers him, puts him on edge at how slow their improvement looks as a whole -- if they can’t get everything together by the end of this camp, it’s going to be a disaster at Spring High, and they have to make it to Nationals. There's no room for failure, there is no _next year._

Suga nudges him outside after dinner, when they should be cooling down before going to bed -- he insists that Daichi should go outside and just take a walk because, “You’re so tense! You can’t go to sleep like that!”

So he does, ends up sitting on a bench he finds sort of off to the side, hard to spot despite the streetlight nearby. He leans back and takes a breather, closing his eyes, trying to sort his head out and relax.

“Hey.” He’s hardly sat down when someone says hello, and he turns to look.

_Kuroo?_

“What are you doing?” He asks, and Daichi closes his eyes as he answers.

“Taking a break.” It’s not the most polite way of going about anything, but when he’d sat down and leaned back, all his weariness had sank into his bones and stuck, heavy limbs pulled with gravity.

“Did you get threatened again?”

He cracks a smile at that, something warm settling in him as it dawns on him that Kuroo remembered their conversation from weeks ago.

“Maybe.”

“How you feeling?” He asks, sitting next to him. Daichi finds he doesn’t mind.

“Honestly?” He sighs, “I’ve never been this tired in my life.”

Kuroo laughs. It’s not mocking, just amused. It's nice.

“We’re a pretty tough group of teams.”

“You’re telling me.” He opens his eyes then, looking at Kuroo out of the corner of them.

His gaze is steady on Daichi, small smile that’s actually somewhat open, and Daichi wants to talk to him, feels compelled to, and he says, “It’s the first time I’ve ever been to one of these.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. We were never invited to them before.”

In the last two years before this one, they’d never been invited to come to any training camp, not even one in Miyagi. It stings to think about.

“Oh.” He sounds surprised. Daichi supposes that it is odd to think of, especially considering how they are now.

“We weren’t that great, my first and second year. We weren’t bad, but...It was pretty miserable back then. Now though...” 

His memory jumps back, back to his first year, to the moment on the floor after their first loss, and then to the second, jumping back and forth between hope and disappointment.

“We’ve got good underclassmen, and we’ve finally got a chance." 

Even if he has to dig his nails into the skin of his palms, even if it hurts, even if the past has been heavy -- a chance is a chance.

“It’s scary to think about, huh?”

Kuroo breaks his bitter memories, and Daichi turns to look at him.

“You’ve finally got a chance, but it’s in your third year, so you can’t even think about screwing up, or taking it easy, or anything like that.” He stretches, shrugs a little shrug. “It’s stressful. This is the last time you’ll be able have one, and you have to be sure to use it right -- that’s a lot of work, really.”

Daichi is aware that he’s speaking what he feels himself, can read enough of Kuroo’s expression to see that he’s really far more anxious about Spring High than he acts like during practice.

He sits up straight and stops feeling sorry for himself.

“It’s the same for most third years though, don’t you think?”

In the end, it’s just a matter of who tries harder and who succeeds in their efforts. Nobody ever comes to fight with the intention of losing, after all.

Kuroo is quiet, very quiet, thoughtful, measuring his answer.

“I guess so.”

It’s hesitant, somber, but it’s his answer, and Daichi nods, just knowing that they’re thinking along the same lines. Nobody ever wants to lose.

It’s silent for a while, sitting side by side on the bench, one person to another. Daichi stares ahead, thoughts congealing into something strange, regrets and leaders and the captain who sank with his ship, a single hand raised in salute because if he couldn’t save it, he would sink with it.

Something touches his hand. He blinks, surprised when he can't quite pull away.

Kuroo is grinning at him, cheeky, but he’s blushing too as he says, “It was your good luck charm, right? I need you and your guys to get to Nationals so we can trash you there properly.”

“It was yours too, wasn’t it? Feeling nervous that we’ll be the ones to trash you?” The words lack any real fighting spirit, honestly, he’s already trying his best not to blush any harder than he is, with Kuroo’s hand on top of his and the subtext being _‘I wanted to help you’_.

“Kind of. You guys are ridiculous, but it works.”

Something in his chest blooms, extends out at the honesty in his comment, the awkward grin on his face, pink all over. Warmth curls through his insides, a comfortable kind that drives his mood upwards, and he grins, all the weight in his heavy limbs less, far less than before. He turns his hand over and curls his fingers around Kuroo’s because he wants to, palm to palm, and it’s like a promise. Of what, he doesn’t know, but he feels it, something good, starting from his hand and ending at the core.

It’s all he wants, in that moment, hand in his.

_With potential._

There is something here, just waiting to grow. It's in the way that Kuroo's hand is familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Daichi tries to see it.

Someone yells a warning, off in the distance, and he draws in a breath, readies himself and lets go. Right after he does, a part of him wishes he hadn't.

“I’ll...See you tomorrow?” _I want to see you,_ he thinks, _more_.

“Well, yeah.” He grins, smug. Daichi waits for the punchline. “The camp is a full week, you know?”

The look on his face is a little too happy for him to really be taken seriously, but Daichi humors him anyways, waits a minute before saying,

“I didn’t mean like that.”

And then walks away, hoping that Kuroo is left stunned in his wake.

* * *

Suga finds out. Suga always finds out, one way or another, he figures things out, and this is no different.

“Daichi,” He says when they should be sleeping, a grin clear in the way he says it, “Where were you?”

He hedges.

“I took a walk, like you said.”

“And you ran into Kuroo? And walked with him for an hour?”

That’s the end of the line for his hedging.

“...Yeah.”

“And..?”

“Suga, what are you expecting me to say?”

“Well, you seemed happy when you came back! Really happy. You weren’t very subtle.” He sighs quietly. Daichi remembers that Suga’s always liked the soulmates thing as a concept. “I just wanted to know if anything good happened.”

Because Suga is his best friend, and because he still feels warm and content, he says, “Yeah. Something did.”

He ignores Suga’s prodding and goes to sleep.

* * *

They keep meeting. Or rather, Suga, and Asahi because Suga knows he knows and cajoles him into it, keep pushing him out, towards the end of the day when they can’t practice anymore but don’t have to sleep yet, and he keeps going back to that bench, and Kuroo keeps finding him again, and they keep sitting there and holding hands and talking. Talking about what’s next, university and deeper fears and favorites and things that only can really be talked about easily in person, in Daichi’s mind, things that he has to see a reaction to know it’s fine to continue on. It keeps him going. Every single round of flying falls, running penalties, extra practice spent on new tricks, everything all seems to accumulate around that moment at the end of the day, where he sits down on a bench and gets mosquito bites and talks to Kuroo and holds his hand and is ridiculously, painfully happy, up until the last night, where reality nips at his ankles and reminds him that soon, he’ll have to go back home, and this won’t get to happen again.

They’re quiet, holding hands with their sides pressed together, leaning on each other, even though it’s kind of warm out. There’s a soft wind that feels pretty good, brushes past his neck and ruffles Kuroo’s hair, and he thinks to himself that he wants this moment to last for a long time. Forever, maybe.

Kuroo’s warmth, the rough skin of his hands, gentle press of his fingers as they interlace with Daichi’s -- he tries to commit it all to memory, so that when he goes back to Miyagi, he’ll be able to think of this instead of the ghost of a touch, be able to remember how real Kuroo is, the hand he can grasp back, connected to someone he likes genuinely as a person, as a friend, maybe even as _more_.

“You know,” He says, and Daichi glances at him, reining his thoughts back, “I’m really going to miss you.”

He’s staring straight ahead, cheeks flushed a brilliant red, and Daichi just looks, absorbs the way Kuroo fidgets slightly, hair being pushed around by the wind so it rises and falls. Something tightens in his chest, squeezes until he wants to burst, and he thinks of soulmates and rivalries and how much he wants Kuroo to look at him, because he wants to see the look on his face when he’s being as honest as he is now.  

He thinks about the universe, and promises, and opportunity, and grabbing it when it comes, holding it tight. He thinks about what he wants and why he wants it so badly.

“...I’m going to miss you too.” He whispers, because he will.

Kuroo turns an interesting shade of red at that, dark on his cheeks and lighter, more like the color of his jacket, on the rest of what Daichi can see. He looks down at him with wide eyes wild, thin slivers of gold, teeth edging into his bottom lip.

He can’t tear his eyes away from that, the motion, a flash of white against red. He thinks Kuroo’s face is getting closer.

His eyes stay open as Kuroo kisses him, softly, bright red and eyes closed a little too tight.

 _Cute_ , Daichi thinks in a daze, Kuroo pulls back a centimeter and then Daichi decides that the next one he’ll return properly, because he’s never felt anything better than this, a light touch and chapped lips and _Kuroo,_ his heart stutters.

It’s not until his lungs start burning that Kuroo pulls back, and they sit, dazed, looking at each other, halfway to another kiss when Kuroo seems to regain his sense of mind and jerks off the bench, landing on the ground.

“Uhm.” Daichi blinks, and that's the end of whatever atmosphere was happening before.

“Uh--” He swallows. Daichi watches, tries to regroup mentally, unsure of everything. “Sorry. For springing that on you, I mean.”

It is then, of all times, that Daichi’s brain really kicks back into gear, pulls out all the consequences and issues and they just _kissed, twice_ , and his face burns, and oh. _Oh_.

He really does like Kuroo. More than he thought.

“It’s...Fine. Uhm.” He licks his lips, which is a bad idea because Kuroo’s eyes follow the motion and make him incredibly self conscious, among other things. “I’m. Gonna go.”

“Yeah, uh, good night. Have a good rest.”

“You too.”

He runs. He can’t do anything else but run, his whole body burns, fire in his veins, throat dry and frantic. He’d kissed him, and Daichi had kissed back, and they were at a school where people could have seen them, and he knows he can be dense sometimes but how in the world had he missed the fact that he had really wanted to kiss Kuroo? How had he only realized it after it happened? How had he thought he was only on the edges of wanting more of him, wanting to be something else besides friends to him, when in actuality, he’s been wanting this since -- since he’s not sure, but it’s been a while, that, he is sure of.

When he gets back both Suga and Asahi see the look on his face and grin, and Daichi holds himself together by the barest seam, mind going miles.

* * *

He spends three days avoiding it.

Not exactly avoiding, as he still texts Kuroo back, but he spends three days trying to figure out what he wants and if he’s sure and if it’s not just the ever present fact that they’re soulmates that’s led him to where he is now. That he really does want Kuroo because of Kuroo, and nothing else.

And then, on the fourth day, after practice, after thinking about it, after letting it sit and leaving Kuroo in the dark so inconsiderately, he says he has something to do and leaves a little earlier because he wants to clear this up before Spring High. He can't play his best if it stays on his mind.

Suga smiles like he knows what he’s going to do, gives him a thumbs up when he waves goodbye.

He looks up directions to Nekoma High, hopes that Kuroo lives close enough to meet him, and then gets on the nearest train. He follows directions, jumps from line to line as he’s supposed to, buys a snack at a stall in a station about halfway there, and fidgets as the hours go by. He walks through the suburbs of Tokyo until he starts to see a familiar wall, and finally, there’s Nekoma, nameplate clear as day just as the sky gets truly dark.

He calls.

 

 

 

 

_A promise is kept._

 

 

 

 

Tetsurou runs as fast as he can, and then faster, rounding corners quickly enough that his shoes squeak, drag roughly on the concrete.

He’s here. He’s here, and for what--

\--He makes a complete stop, huffs to catch his breath, and stares at the person he knows is Sawamura. He’s in his school uniform, black and traditional, white undershirt peeking out because it’s warmer, nowadays, even if summer isn’t here yet, and he tries to figure out what to say and how to say it and especially how to make sure it holds Sawamura’s interest.

Sawamura turns to look at him, and anything he could have thought of is gone, dust in the wind.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

There’s a very long pause. Tetsurou swallows.

“Uhm,” Sawamura gets closer, takes steady steps forward, and Tetsurou straightens, attempts to look completely fine and not at all winded. He usually wouldn’t be from a run like that, but he’s not sure he had been breathing right, or at all. “I know it’s sudden, but can I stay at your house?”

“ _What._ ” He croaks, about ten dozen things going through his mind all at once, the majority of them completely fabricated and extremely unlikely.

“Because the trains aren’t-- they-- I’m going to take an early train back, so I wanted to sleep-- Sorry. I’ll just, I’ll find a place, do you--”

He shoves all his fantasies to the back of his mind and comes back to the real world, where Sawamura is fidgeting and stumbling over his words and in Tokyo when he probably shouldn’t be. 

“Yeah! Yeah, of course you can stay. Just follow me.” He makes an about face and starts walking, hears hurried steps and then Sawamura is walking next to him, back to his house.

He has no idea how he's going to explain this to his mother. He’s not sure it matters.

“So, what brings you back here?” He grins, speaking slower deliberately so he doesn’t end up jumbling his words. “Are you that impressed by us? It’s a little late to transfer.”

“There is a reason, though definitely _not_ that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I’ll tell you.”

His voice is very firm and very nervous at the same time. Tetsurou wants to know how he does that.

“I’ll tell you,” He says, “but when we get to your house.”

Tetsurou tries not to run back, because overeager isn’t really that appealing, as far as he knows. And he'd probably leave Sawamura in the dust.

It’s really an awkward walk back, and he wants to hold his hand, but Sawamura keeps them in his pockets and so Tetsurou copies him, plays with the lint he finds instead.

It feels way longer than the twenty minutes it takes to walk back but they do eventually get to his house. He kicks off his shoes, neatly because he was raised with manners, but his energy has to go somewhere.

His mother looks out from the living room at the noise, probably wanting to scold him for doing that again, but then she sees Sawamura and reads the expression on their faces. He knew he got his grin from his mother.

Sawamura bows, goes through the entire meet-and-greet routine, and his mother grins even wider.

“He’s gonna stay over, okay? We’ll be in my room.”

He hurries him up the stairs, trying to avoid his mother’s stare that says he will have a lot of explaining to do, and then some.

Why does his house have to have stairs and hallways and things that delay everything? He tries not to shove his door open and fails, nearly falls over nothing because he’s opened it with far too much force. And with Sawamura behind him to witness the whole thing.

Tetsurou considers knocking himself out while he closes the door behind them. He'll forget about how awkward he looks, at least.

“This is my room, you can sit wherever you want.” The bed. No, the floor. Casual. “Do you want a drink?” Way too polite. Tone it down. Up? Whichever.

“It’s okay.” Sawamura sits on the floor across from him.

He’s in his room. He might pass out.

“So, what’s the reason?”

Too eager. Way too much. He dials it back.

Sawamura hesitates, and while Tetsurou really does understand, he’s going to die here if Sawamura doesn’t say something soon.

“About...About us,” He starts, and Tetsurou reminds himself to breathe, because he’s already made that mistake at least twice and he can’t go making it again at a moment like this.

“I think,” Tetsurou takes a single breath, remembers to breathe it out as well as in, “I think that, maybe, the universe was right.”

And the universe is. 

“And so..?”

He’s really pushing it, unfairly so. Sawamura looks at him with a flustered, irritated stare, and he grins wide, genuine, completely clear of anything aside from bliss.

“I--”

“I like you, Sawamura.” He leans forward, all the way into his personal bubble, eye to eye and only inches away. “And I want the universe to be right really, really badly.”

He softens at that, all the tension leaves his shoulders and the smile on his face grows gentle and bright, and Tetsurou tries and fails not to blush when he says, “I like you too, Kuroo.”

They’re smiling at each other and Tetsurou isn’t sure he’ll ever have as good a day as this. Winning Nationals might not even come close.

His room has always been well lit, but he’s hovering so close to Sawamura that his shadow casts across his face, and their hands meet on the floor, and he goes that slight extra distance and pushes forward, just enough for Sawamura to lean back when they kiss again, the third time really is the charm. Every time might be the charm, he’s not sure yet, but it’s looking like a really good prediction.

They end up sliding onto the floor, Tetsurou above and Sawamura below, and he thinks he could probably do this all night, just this, when a knock on his door gives the both of them a jolt of terror.

“You have to go to sleep, Tetsurou. Don’t forget you have practice tomorrow.”

His mother did that on purpose, he knows she did, she's probably laughing behind the door, but he can’t bring himself to care. He pulls himself away from Sawamura, who sits up slowly like he’s had an epiphany, and says, “I’ll bring you something to sleep on.”

“Okay.”

Sawamura’s smile is probably just a mirror of his own, but that’s okay. It’s the brightest he’s ever seen.

* * *

“I’ll see you at Nationals.”

“We’ll beat you there.”

“In your dreams.”

In the dark, he sticks out a hand and receives a tight squeeze in return.

It’s different than the first time, and different from his memories.

But it is the first of many more.

It is, for certain, a _promise._

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, the end, which is not the end, but is the end of a beginning, I guess? I don't plan on extending this fic, just, in this scenario...All right, I'll just stop here, I'm talking myself in circles.
> 
> This was terribly self indulgent on my part, I got into it and then it exploded, as fics...Tend to do. I can't believe it went this far though. This is ridiculous. I'm not sure I know how to read anymore. Guerrilla editing is not a good time. Characterization is always so hard to figure out with longer fics, you have more things that get tangled up with each other.
> 
> I was considering posting this when Kurodai week came about(March 20th to March 26th!), but I really can't wait that long after spending a week writing this with obsession. It also seemed kinda unfair to have it share both the kurodai soulmate contest AND be a thing for kurodai week...I'll just have to do other stuff or something. I don't know. I'm in college, I shouldn't.
> 
> Hope you found some of it enjoyable, at least, and UGH, Haikyuu, why do you make me hurt myself this way.


End file.
